


What Happens in...Columbus?

by sheesusnat



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, casual homophobia, rare pair (ish?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:25:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14188938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheesusnat/pseuds/sheesusnat
Summary: Ryan Murray had quite an extensive list of all the things that could be expected to go wrong during an unsupervised weekend in Las Vegas.Waking up to find out Boone and Seth had gotten married was not on that list.





	1. Chapter 1

There was a very distinct kind of terror that gripped you when you woke up and upon looking at your phone, discovered that there were multiple notifications on every single app. And yet that's what Ryan Murray found when he checked his iPhone when he woke up Monday morning in Las Vegas.

 

23 text alerts, 11 Instagram notifications, 6 missed calls, 8 Facebook messages.

 

_ Someone died _ . It was the first thought that went through Ryan's head. Someone died and his parents had been trying to get in touch with him and he slept straight through all of it. Fuck, maybe his dad had a heart attack? Or one of his brothers was in a car accident? Someone kidnapped Missy?

 

It was probably only 5 seconds between when Ryan looked at his phone and he opened the first message, but in that short time, an avalanche of potential bad news washed over him. For all the worst case scenarios he panned through, though, nothing prepared him for the first text from Josh Anderson.

 

_ holy fuck bam n jonesy got wasted last night. fuckin got married. _

 

Ryan blinked at his phone, shaking his head like it would magically make the message less ridiculous. Or maybe his sleep-bleary eyes were playing tricks on him and that would clear them. Maybe there was a "damn autocorrect" message coming.

 

Then there was a text from Scott Harrington. 

 

_ lmfao murr, you shoulda kept an eye on your bro bam last night. jonesy liked it n put a ring on it. _

 

All 23 texts were some variation of the same news, and by the time Ryan had pushed himself to sit up in bed, he'd come to terms with it. Somehow, while drunk off of their asses, Boone and Jonesy had ended up at some 24-hour chapel and  _ got married _ . 

 

The missed calls were drunk dials from Anderson and Harrington, slurred stories about a hooker that tried picking up Sedlak, about Werenski puking into a garbage can in front of half a dozen Asian tourists, and then finally one from Boone, who was not only slurring, but also lisping, with half of his front teeth knocked out  _ again _ . "You thoulda come out t'night, Muuurrshy. You gotta come out with ush more. We mith you, Murr! Oh shit wait, we're gonna go crash thome wedding!" 

 

The Instagram notifications were stories of the  _ actual ceremony _ , with a cliche Elvis overseeing the event--fat Elvis, this one, with a bad wig and a rhinestone bedazzled jumpsuit that barely stretched over his beer belly. Jonesy said "I do," and then Boone slurred his "I fuckin' do too!" A big manly bear hug punctuated the news that they were now man and husband, and Harrington and Anderson whooped from the audience. 

 

The next video was the whole crew of them stumbling out of the chapel, Boone and Jonesy's arms thrown around each other, clinking their beers together and raising them high. Andy was laughing boisterously as he followed, filming them. "Ya fuckin' queers, which of ya's gonna be taking it? I mean, Jonesy's the big guy here, he's gotta top ya, eh Bam?!" 

 

"Hey, I could be the top!" Boone argued, looking back over his shoulder, flipping his middle finger. "Just 'cause Joneshy's taller don't mean thit!" 

 

"I'm not gonna hit it ANYWAY," Seth argued, one hand snaking down to grip Boone's ass hard. "This fucker's gotta get some TEETH first!"

 

"He'd be way better at suckin' dick this way, Jonesy!" 

 

The video cut off there, and the rest of the clips they'd sent were the whole group of them just drunkenly stammering to each other and drifting from one casino to another. Seth's arm always draped around Boone's shoulders and him leaning comfortably into the touch.

 

Ryan had mostly gotten used to it, being replaced. All the things Ryan had imagined when he was drafted--being that stud defenseman, the guy the coach depended on for the PP, the PK, in the last minute of games, against the best players on the other team--all those plans had changed when Columbus traded for Jonesy. And the train veered even further off the tracks when they drafted Werenski. In just over a year, Ryan went from being a top 2 defenseman at the World Cup to being a 14 minute a night third pair defenseman whose injury history plagued his potential in the future.

 

Ryan loved Jonesy, he loved Zach. He loved seeing them do well, he wanted them to have all the success in the world, really. He just hadn't really planned on their success coming at his expense. It didn't help that he'd spent the better part of  _ another _ season hurt.  _ Another _ couple of months on the IR. He should be used to it by now, after everything he'd been through. He'd nearly returned to the lineup twice--only to deal with one setback, then another. He was traveling with the team, at least, which kept him from spending days on end in an empty apartment, stuck with his increasingly negative thoughts.

 

It wasn't just the on-ice stuff either.

 

For Ryan's first few years in the NHL, it had been him and Boone against the world. Even the hell year, when Ryan hurt his knee, and then sprained his ankle, when Boone had the stress fracture in his back...sure it sucked being injured, that always sucked. But they'd been living together then, helping each other through it. He wasn't alone with himself, doubts creeping in and overwhelming him. Boone was always there with the offer of video games or catching up on some show he'd saved on the DVR. Misery really did love company.

 

It all changed in the last year. Ryan had heard his name in trade rumors before--every NHL player had, probably, except maybe a guy like Crosby, or McDavid. But last year it started in earnest. The weeks leading up to the trade deadline, his gut tightened with every buzz of his phone. And then the days leading up to the draft were the same. The days leading up to Free Agency, the start of the season, the roster freeze at Christmas...it had gotten to a point where he was almost  _ looking forward _ to a trade, just to end the agony of waiting for what seemed to be inevitable.

 

He got his own place this summer, for the first time since he'd been in the league. He was going to be 24, Boone already was. It didn't make sense for them to keep living together--they didn't need the support anymore, they were grown-ass adults. Sure, they still had condos in the same complex, and they were only a couple of floors away, but it made sense like this, it let them have their own space.

 

Ryan liked the quiet, he liked having the apartment to himself. He could play his guitar, listen to any music he wanted. Without Boone convincing him to go out with the boys, he kept to himself a lot more. He'd never been the bar-hopping type, really. He wasn't out to pick up, so he always felt left out. 

 

Boone kept going out, however, now the crew just no longer included Ryan. He went for dinners with Jonesy, went drinking with Scotty and Andy. They posted lots of pictures, lots of videos. The four of them wore matching Halloween costumes. They went Christmas shopping together.

 

It was easier before, when Bill was still in Columbus. If Boone wanted to go out and Ryan wasn't in the mood, he could hang out with Bill and Wenny. But then Vegas stole Bill away, and Alex got himself a girlfriend and consequently forgot about spending time with anyone who wasn't the aforementioned girlfriend, and suddenly Ryan felt very much alone. 

 

Sitting here in this hotel room in Las Vegas, nothing but the hum of the air conditioner to keep him company, looking at photos of Boone drunkenly hanging on Seth--his  _ fucking husband _ \--Ryan slowly went from dreading a trade to thinking it might be best for all of them.

 

Like he'd willed it, his phone buzzed in his hand.

 

But when he looked down, no sudden trade information awaited him. Just an all caps text from Torts, addressed to him and the rest of the team. 

 

_ TEAM MEETING AT 9AM. MANDATORY. DO NOT BE LATE. _


	2. Chapter 2

Foligno and Bobrovsky were the only two who made it to the conference room before Ryan. Each was nursing a cup of coffee and speaking in low voices, and they nodded as Ryan came in. Nick raised his mug in salute. "Good night to decide to stay in, eh Murrs?"

 

Ryan gave a weak smile and forced a chuckle, going over to pour himself a cup of coffee. Black. Black was good. This was going to be one long, rough meeting.

 

Around the moment Ryan sat down, his phone started to ping again. Deadspin had obtained a picture of Boone and Seth in the chapel, a short video of the ceremony. So it was all over the internet, then. Ryan was sure a Big Gay Panic would ensue, and he fully intended to just sit back and shut up. No point drawing attention to himself. No one knew his orientation, and no one needed to.

 

His teammates filed in; most had taken advantage of the night out on the road, but not all, and some certainly looked worse for the wear. Zach sat at the same table as Ryan, waved one hand, and put his head down, arm hooked around a huge, half-empty bottle of Gatorade. There was absolutely zero chance that this team meeting was going to end _without_ Torts yelling; it was going to be tough for Zach.

 

Wenny joined them, looking obnoxiously fresh-faced for a 9 am team meeting. "Morning, boys," he clapped Werenski on the back, the latter groaning in agony and hiding his face further into his arms. Wenny did the same with Ryan and went off in search of coffee and a bottled water, and he also reappeared with a danish, though Ryan wasn't entirely sure where he'd found that. To be fair, he hadn't looked terribly hard to see if there was any food around. He didn't have much of an appetite anyway.

 

It was nearly 9 when Seth finally walked in, shoulders hunched, hoodie pulled up over his head, bags under his eyes. Wenny let out a wolf whistle, much to the chagrin of Zach sitting next to him. "There's the lucky man."

 

"You shoulda told us you wanted to get married, Jonesy, we could've found you a better wife than _Bam_ ," Savard piped up.

 

"Hell," Calvert chimed in, "we could've thrown you a bridal shower!"  

 

"One of you should've worn a veil, probably Bam, cover that gap in his mouth, eh boys?" Jack was chortling, shaking his head.

 

Scotty and Andy snuck in amidst the ruckus, settling at the table with Ryan, Wennberg and Werenski. They didn't even bother going for coffee, both nursing Powerade bottles and keeping their heads down.

 

"The bridesmaids!" Savard clearly wasn't about to let them go unscathed. "We should've gotten you two matching dresses for the occasion!"

 

"Alright boys, that's enough," Nick chimed in authoritatively, "We're gonna get enough shit for last night without Torts being pissed you're whooping it up now."

 

As he was talking, Boone stumbled into the room. He had a beanie pulled low over his ears, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He had most certainly forgone shaving, and he had deep, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pallid and thin.

 

Low chuckles still circulated the room as guys checked their phones and scrolled through the headlines. A few guys muttered back and forth, eyes scanning over Jonesy--who had settled in the seat between Wenny and Harrington--and then over to Boone, who had poured himself a cup of coffee and then slumped down next to Ryan.

 

Boone was keeping his eyes down on his mug, save for one quick glance up at Ryan, who swallowed hard and forced a weak, grim smile before breaking the eye contact. He was still grasping the _Boone is married to Seth_ news, and being this close to him felt a little too much just yet. He couldn't get up and move, though, so he just slumped in on himself, arms crossed over his chest.

 

"You know, when I made the comment about 'playing guilty,'" Tortorella was halfway through the statement before he entered the room, shoving the door closed behind him, "I didn't expect you dumbasses to take it as a challenge to see just _how guilty_ you could manage to be."

 

Boone slumped deeper into his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he stared intently at the drink in front of him. Seth hunched in further on himself, elbows on the table, his head hung low.

 

"I hope last night was worth it, boys, because you see, now you stupid fucks are all over the internet!" Torts held up his phone, the Deadspin article open. "So now I look like an asshole for giving you free reign of Vegas, because I _thought_ I could trust you to just be like Werenski over there and just get shitfaced and puke your guts up on the Strip. That's the kind of guilty I _expected_ to happen in Vegas."

 

All previous chuckling and chortling had gone silent; the only noises in the room now were a few guys sniffling or clearing their throats; no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire of Torts' rage.

 

"So here we are now, we've got this big fuckin' _scandal_ now because a few of you couldn't just fuck around like normal, no, you had to go and get yourselves _married_? What the fuck is wrong with you? Who the fuck even decides to do that?"

 

Boone was stock-still next to Ryan, save for chewing the inside of his cheek and tapping his foot in a slow rhythm.

 

"I should make you stupid fucks _stay_ married, put you out there as this big fuckin' goodwill story about the first homo couple in the league, eh?" He rounded the table where Ryan sat, though neither Seth nor Boone had the nerve to look up. "Couple of adorable fuckin' queer ambassadors to the league, right? Was that the plan?"

 

"No, sir," Boone mumbled sheepishly and Seth just shook his head silently.

 

"Fortunately for you idiots, I spent the morning on the phone with our legal team, and we found out that annulments are quick in Nevada, so you won't actually have to do that, even if that _should_ be your punishment, that whole fuckin' media circus."

 

Ryan tried not to flinch, tried to keep his face neutral. He always knew that regardless of the You Can Play initiatives, the Pride nights, he was always going to be hiding his sexuality. It was part of playing in the NHL. Other guys managed it as well--there were rumors, anyway, no one was officially out, of course--so it wasn't as if Ryan was alone. It was just unspoken, invisible. Still, to hear Torts talk as if one of his players being married to another man was the epitome of punishment stung.

 

In the moment, though, Ryan wasn't the subject of Torts' scorn, so he wasn't going to do anything to incriminate himself.

 

"And _you two_ fuckin' chuckleheads, laughing it up while these idiots are standing in front of a shitty Elvis impersonator," Torts turned to Harrington and Anderson. "No, don't bother to step in and stop them from doing something monumentally fucking stupid, of course not. You're just gonna be stupid fucking kids and post shit all over the fucking Instagram about it. So that not only is this an internal issue, now it's all over fucking _social media_ ," he said with a heavy dose of disgust.

 

"Fuckin' kids and your fuckin' Facebook _bullshit_ ," he muttered, appalled, "this shit is why hockey players can't just play guilty nowadays. Now you fuckers have to put that shit all over the internet for everyone else to fuckin' see, instead of keeping it in the fucking locker room like you should be doing."

 

"Well you've fuckin' ruined it for everyone now, boys," Torts pounded his fist on the table in front of Harrington, making everyone jump, except for Zach, who just grunted in agony and hid his face in his hand. "Curfew tonight, 10pm. Get your fun in early, because I'll be checking your fuckin' rooms."

 

A few quiet protests echoed in the room, but when Tortorella scanned the different tables, no one wanted to speak up to argue. "And we were going to have an optional, but it's mandatory now. Plan to be fuckin' tired afterward, it's gonna be the hardest practice of your fuckin' lives. Be in the locker room by 11am. If you're late, you don't play for the next five games."

 

He stormed out of the room at that, still muttering under his breath about fuckin' Facebook and fuckin' Millenials and fuckin' iPhones.

 

Once everyone was sure he wasn't coming back the grumbling started, all variations of "way to fucking go, assholes, you fucked up and now _none of us_ can go out and have fun tonight."

 

Zach disappeared from the room quickly, looking a bit green. Wennberg took a Facetime call from his girlfriend. Scotty and Andy seemingly wanted to just get away from the anger of the rest of the team and ducked out pretty fast as well. Seth mumbled something about needing a shower and left. Soon it was just Ryan and Boone sitting alone at the table, staring into their coffees.

 

"This was really fuckin' stupid," Boone said finally.

 

"No arguments from me."

 

Boone looked up, stung. "Well thanks for the support, Murrs."

 

"You got wasted and married a teammate," Ryan said plainly. "Telling you it was fucking stupid is just stating a fact."

 

"The legal guys have been blowing up my phone all morning. My mom is _pissed_. Colesy hasn't stopped sending me wedding gown pictures," he grimaced when his phone buzzed again, held it up to show a message from Cole, a screencap of a 'wedding planning' board on some girl's Pinterest.

 

"What made you decide to _get married_?" Ryan asked, unable to stop himself.

 

Boone shrugged weakly, thumb tracing the handle of his mug, down, around, back again. "We crashed in on some random wedding, sat in the first row cheering for them, and then the Elvis guy asked who was next. Andy shoved us forward and said we were, so we just went with it. It was fucking hilarious at the time."

 

"So it was just...a big joke?" Ryan wasn't sure if he was offended or relieved.

 

"Well yeah it was a joke," Boone chuffed, "If I'm gonna...I mean...I'm not gonna pick Jonesy out as a husband or anything. He's a good buddy but…" Boone shrugged again, as if that explained anything.

 

Ryan frowned, unsure of what to take from that shrug. Maybe Boone really _did_ want to be married to Seth. They were together all the time lately. It would probably make sense if that was the case. He didn't really want to deal with that possibility, the last thing he wanted to sit through was Boone pining over someone else. It was bad enough when they lived together and Boone would pick up and bring women home. At least when he was bringing _girls_ home, Ryan didn't feel like he was being personally rejected, it was just that Boone was straight. Or at least Ryan had always assumed so.

 

"We should get ready for practice," Ryan changed the subject, uncomfortable with the possibilities of it all. "Well, you should anyway. You're gonna get the bag-skate from hell. I'm planning to hide in the weight room."

 

Boone watched him curiously, brow furrowed. "Are you freaked out about this? You're being weird."

 

Ryan shook his head, kept his eyes down. "Just fuckin' sore this morning, that's all. And it's been a weird day already. But we should go, the last thing you need right now is to give Torts another reason to be pissed at you."


	3. Chapter 3

Every single day for the last two months, all Ryan wanted was to be out on the ice with his teammates again, to be healthy and skating and playing games just like everyone else. But for the first time in a very long while, Ryan was more than happy to be on the Injured Reserve list. Ryan wanted absolutely no parts of the practice they were being put through today. They'd been on the ice for an hour so far, just skating drill after skating drill, and Torts had gone from angry shouting to speaking absolutely no words, just blowing his whistle militantly.

 

Three different players had puked already, a few others were doubled over on the verge of joining them, and Tortorella didn't appear to be finished. Ryan didn't want to be caught gawking, so he made his way back to the locker room to spend some time on the stationary bike. The monotonous whirr as he pedaled let his mind wander. 

 

He wasn't sure exactly when he started to fall in love with Boone. He'd known Boone since they were kids; he was 16 when they first played on a team together. Then they played for Canada again when he was 17. And then they got drafted to the same team and moved in together. The Blue Jackets paired them up for everything from rooming on the road to hospital visits to runway walks. 

 

He was pretty sure it was sometime in the Hell Year, when they both spent so much time at home, just the two of them nursing injuries, grumping  _ at _ each other and bitching  _ to _ each other when Boone's back was hurting, or Ryan's knee was bothering him. 

 

It was sometime in the thick of it, maybe in February when they'd been together too much for too many weeks, he was standing in their kitchen, drinking his coffee and watching Boone, his eyes still bleary from sleep, hair stuck up in every direction, wearing a worn t-shirt with a tear at the collar and plaid pajama pants. He was miserable, ice pack strapped to his back, muttering something about why the fuck Ryan always insisted on leaving the creamer on the counter, it was gonna  _ go bad _ , god dammit--and Ryan realized that he kinda wanted to wake up like this every single morning. Indefinitely.

 

He'd nearly dropped his mug at the realization.

 

It was a stupid thing, he knew it, because Boone picked up virtually every time they went out. He merely flashed an earnest farm-boy smile and girls were putty in his hands. Ryan often sat in the living room with said girls' unfortunate friends, sitting there waiting for the moaning to stop coming from Boone's end of the apartment. He asked some of them about what they were studying in school, or where they worked. He offered drinks and snacks, and always turned up the music if the woman Boone was with that night was particularly loud. 

 

One night Boone's hook-up brought a particularly attractive friend with her. Tall, curved in the right places, all fluttering lashes and seductive hair-flips, and she kept pressing her hand to Ryan's knee when he made a (terrible, frankly) joke. When Boone came out of his room an hour or so later and Ryan was sitting on the couch strumming his guitar while the friend watched, he gave an odd look. The next morning he asked why Ryan didn't go for it.

 

_ "She was all over you, Murrs. She was a fuckin' dime, too," he shook his head, tossing a banana into the blender with his protein powder and almond milk. "You shoulda hit that." _

 

_ "Never much been one for one-night stands," Ryan waved it off, ducking his head to hide how pink his ears had gone. "I'm too damn awkward for that. Serial monogamist here." _

 

_ "You haven't had a girlfriend in a year," Boone argued, "eventually you've gotta get the tip wet." _

 

_ "I appreciate your concern about my sex life, Bam, but I'm good." _

 

To his credit, Boone never pushed it, outside of a few other particularly heroic attempts to play Ryan's wingman. After a few failed tries, though, he gave up. A couple of years in, he stopped bringing as many girls home; he'd go to their place and then try to quietly sneak back into their apartment in the middle of the night. Ryan never could sleep on nights like that, gut twisted up until he heard the key in the lock, and a few minutes later, Boone's bedroom door clicking shut.

 

It never really got easier, knowing Boone was sleeping with other people. But it was always women, and it took the sting away. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep with  _ Ryan _ , he just was only interested in girls. It was fine. 

 

Until he married fucking Jonesy.

 

One-by-one his teammates started to filter in from the ice, drenched with sweat and sucking in big gulps of air. Zach flopped down on the bench in front of Ryan, guzzling down a bottle of Powerade while he held another in his free hand. 

 

"Lucky son of a bitch," Harrington muttered as he dropped onto the stationary bike next to Ryan. "Good time to be rehabbing an injury."

 

"Hey, don't give me shit for being the only one smart enough to stay in last night," Ryan shrugged a shoulder. He was mildly irritated at Scotty for no good reason. He wasn't responsible for Boone's shitty decisions. But he also didn't stop them. So Ryan was still pissed at him.

 

"I don't know, Murrs," he chuckled after draining a full bottle of water in one go. "It was totally worth it. The fuckin' look on Bam's face this morning when he realized what they did. Thought he was gonna actually shit himself."

 

He was going to be hearing about this for weeks. Every team he'd ever been on, if a guy did something monumentally stupid, the entire locker room would rag on him about it until someone  _ else _ did something monumentally stupid. And  _ marrying a fucking teammate _ was easily the stupidest mistake Ryan had seen on any of his teams, so it was going to last for a while.

 

He wasn't looking forward to all the little casually homophobic jokes, the cutting comments that everyone thought were harmless. Straight guys never quite got it, how shit like that poked like a dull knife at the same sore spot, over and over, painful little reminders that you were  _ different _ and that these men you knew, who were your best friends, whom you loved and would go to battle for--they wouldn't ever quite  _ get _ you. Not really.

 

Ryan hadn't really noticed when Seth walked into the room. He sat next to Zach on the bench, giving him a weak, commiserating smile. "Gonna be alright, Z?"

 

"There's nothing left to throw up, so hopefully," he croaked, opening up his next bottle of Powerade.

 

"You shoulda come out with us, Murrs," Seth said, looking up. Ryan clenched his jaw but forced a smile that he hoped would appear genuine.

 

"Because I'm the only one with the sense to stop you two idiots?" he asked, an eyebrow arched, huffing out a laugh. "I'm just glad to stay out of the way of Torts' wrath."

 

"Hey, what's the fun of getting in trouble if not  _ everyone _ gets in trouble?" Seth responded, shrugging a shoulder. 

 

"I'll pass on that one," Ryan pushed himself to stand. He wasn't quite ready to play nice with Jonesy just yet, not with the constant  _ he's married to Boone _ flashing in the back of Ryan's head.

 

Boone had just walked into the room, baseball cap on backward, team issued track jacket zipped all the way up, looking positively miserable. "No one died yet, eh?" He glanced at Zach, who groaned and shook his head. 

 

"Just giving Murr shit for not coming out last night," Seth caught him up, "he gets off scot-free here, lucky bastard."

 

Savy was walking by at that moment, the only member of the team--other than Zach, who was still looking a little bit like he might throw up at any moment--who wasn't openly pissed off at the crew of them for getting the whole damn group punished. "Murr should always go out with Bam, he keeps his dumbass in line."

 

"Hey!" Boone protested, but it didn't have much bite behind it.

 

"Sad truth, Bam Bam. You're a hot ass mess on your own," Scotty agreed.

 

"I don't need a  _ keeper _ ," Boone insisted, grumbling. "Tell 'em, Murr. I'm not  _ that _ bad. I kept our place clean for years!"

 

Ryan was getting ready to respond when Torts poked his head in the room. "Jens, Jonesy, unless you idiots are planning your honeymoon, come the fuck on, legal's here, they've got all the annulment paperwork for you to sign."

 

Savy whistled "The Wedding March" as the two of them followed Tortorella out of the room, hands in pockets and shoulders slumped. He let out a boisterous laugh once they were gone. "Fuck, boys, we've gotta get them a bunch of rainbow shit now, right? There's gotta be all kinda crap like that we can pick up today, right?"

 

Ryan grabbed a towel and wiped his face, shaking his head as they started checking their phones to see where they could find Bachelorette sashes or His and Hers towels. It was going to be a really, really long couple of weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan met with Wennberg and Karlsson for dinner that night. It was supposed to be a bigger event with more of their teammates attending, but they'd already endured the bag skate from hell, most of them fighting through it with horrendous hangovers. Boone and Seth had gone through all of that, and then spent the whole day fielding calls from agents and media and holding one hastily arranged and painfully awkward press conference. So it was just Ryan and the Swedes, as it had been quite a few times last season.

 

"What the hell made them think it was a good idea to get  _ married _ ?" Bill asked, taking a drink of his wine. He was overdressed for a dinner out with the boys--not unexpected, Alex was in a suit as well. Ryan was proud of himself for wearing a polo and dress pants instead of jeans. He couldn't match them for fashion sense, what was the point in trying?

 

"Bam's been weird ever since he's been on his own," Alex shrugged a shoulder, stabbing his fork into their shared appetizer. He pointed it at Ryan before taking the bite. "They were giving him shit about it, but he wasn't so weird when you lived together."

 

"We can't room together  _ indefinitely _ ," Ryan kept his voice light, even if he could feel his ears warming. Fortunately the restaurant Bill suggested had mood lighting, dimmed and pink-toned, so they likely wouldn't notice. "It made more sense for us to have our own places."

 

Bill smirked around the rim of his glass. "Boone got wasted and married Jones, you say that makes sense?"

 

Ryan grimaced before he could stop himself, "Well no, that doesn't make sense. That was idiotic."

 

"I thought Torts was going to actually make them stay married as punishment. That would have killed Boone's game," Alex chuckled. "Though the missing teeth aren't helping him."

 

"Do we have to talk about it? It's all I've heard  _ all day _ ," Ryan muttered, draining his beer and nodding for the server to bring him another. 

 

Bill watched Ryan curiously, one brow quirking nearly imperceptibly. "No, we can talk about something else, if it bothers you…"

 

Ryan ducked his head, wondering if he'd blown his cover. "Guys are just being kind of...assholes about it, you know? I'm tired of it already."

 

Alex and Bill shared a look, and Ryan wondered just how awkward it would be if he suddenly asked to take his meal to go. That would be even more suspicious than his outburst, so it wasn't an option. He just had to make it through dinner with two good friends, it shouldn't be so hard. He should've just nodded along with all the marriage talk.

 

"You know it didn't mean anything," Alex said after a long moment of hesitation. "It's not like they really wanted to get married. It was a dumb drunk joke."

 

Oh hell, he didn't mean to make this weird. This dinner was supposed to be an enjoyable reunion, a celebration of Wild Bill's surge in Vegas. And now the two of them were handling him with kid gloves.

 

"Boone probably would have married  _ you _ if you'd gone out…"

 

Alex cut Bill off when Ryan grimaced largely. "All we're  _ saying _ is that if you're, like...bothered? You probably shouldn't be. Boone was really freaked out this morning. So was Jonesy."

 

Ryan wanted to hug the waitress when she set their entrees on the table, anything to distract from the stilted reassurances Bill and Wenny were offering. He'd never specifically told them how he felt about Boone, but he had a feeling they suspected. And now here he was being a baby about this whole accidental marriage mess to confirm it; he didn't think either of them would  _ say _ anything to anyone, but now he had that to worry about as well.

 

"Look, let's just talk about Bill's ridiculous season, eh boys? This was supposed to be  _ fun _ ."

____

 

The game in Vegas went about as well as the rest of the trip. The Blue Jackets lost decisively, with Bill leading the way for the Golden Knights, and the locker room after the game was somber, at least until Torts came in. For the second time in as many days, Ryan was glad to not be playing. Tortorella's thinly veiled annoyance at his injuries fell by the wayside, and so Ryan stayed out of the way, hovering on the periphery of the outburst.

 

"I thought I could trust you for just a few days in Las Vegas, thought you could handle it, that you were  _ adults _ , but here we are, and you couldn't get your shit together enough to win a game against a fucking expansion team. We're not discussing the dumbshit  _ incident _ anymore, so I need you all to get your heads out of your fucking asses before we touch down in Phoenix," he was wringing his game notes, leaving them wrinkled and creased. "We have one more game before the break, and unless you motherfuckers want to just give up for the second half, I suggest you look long and hard in a fucking mirror about whether you want to be  _ men _ or  _ boys. _ "

 

He stormed out of the room and off to meet with the media, a presser that Ryan was sure would last no more than a few minutes. When Torts was this angry, he rarely gave many quotes. 

 

Ryan knew he wasn't playing against Arizona, and the team had given him and the other scratches the go-ahead to fly back to Columbus and start their All Star break a couple of days early. No point flying for a game they knew they weren't going to play. He and Motte were taking a flight first thing in the morning back to Columbus and then he was flying home to see his parents and brothers. It was a good time to be home, somewhere he could feel grounded, if only for a couple of days.

 

"Have a great break, boys," he said to each of the guys as they finished changing, clasping hands with each of his teammates. "See you in Columbus on Monday."

 

Boone frowned as he walked over, tightening his tie, "Not making the rest of the trip, Murrs?"

 

"Nah, team gave us the word to head home for break," he shrugged. "No point flying for the game, I'm not gonna play anyway." 

 

"Going home to see the family?"

 

Ryan nodded, "Didn't go back for the bye, my mom's on my ass to come spend some time with them. I'll be back Sunday afternoon, though."

 

"Bam, move your ass," Foligno stepped between them, "we've got a flight to catch." He nodded a greeting at Ryan. "Rest up, bud."

 

"Right, yeah," Boone clapped Ryan's shoulder and squeezed. "Have a good break, tell your brothers I said hi. I'll see you in a few days."

 

Ryan watched him grab his bag and trot off with the rest of the team toward the bus, toward the airport, heading off to yet another game that Ryan would miss. He kept getting left behind. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to get used to that.

____

 

Being home was only slightly better than being with the team. The news of the accidental marriage scandal had traveled far and fast, pictures and videos had become gifs and memes. Various members of the media had hot takes about what it meant, whether it was disrespectful to the LGBTQ community, whether the NHL was ready for a gay player, whether Tortorella had handled it properly.

 

Ryan just wanted to ignore the whole thing, but that was proving to be all but impossible. 

 

"Holy shit, I mean, I never expected Jenner to get married anyway," Nate was sitting next to him at the same bar where they'd each had their first legal drink, "but then he marries a  _ dude _ ."

 

"It's not like they were madly in love or some shit, they were wasted and thought it would be hilarious," Ryan ordered another beer. There weren't enough Molsons in the world to make this conversation less awful. "And they're already getting it annulled, so it doesn't matter. It's already over."

 

"You should've gone with them, you would've gotten way better video, Anderson couldn't stop laughing enough to keep his phone steady," Nate chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't fuckin' believe they actually got married in Vegas, what kind of cliched bullshit is that? It's like some weirdass romantic comedy setup."

 

"They'd have to want to be married for it to be some chick flick trope," Ryan argued, rolling his eyes. 

 

"Shit, maybe they really  _ want _ to be! But then everyone found out about it and lost their shit, so they went along with the 'oh we were totally drunk' story to throw everyone off!" Nate was going now, and unlikely to shut up. Every sentence hit on another of Ryan's fears. 

 

"I'm  _ so  _ fucking sick of talking about it, Nate," Ryan interrupted him, leveling him with a glare. Nate must've picked up on the simmering anger because he stopped talking. "Just drop it, it was stupid shit and it's probably gonna fuck up our team's dynamic for the rest of the season. It's bullshit."

 

"I just thought it was funny," he grumbled, throwing a balled up piece of beer label at Ryan. "No need to get your panties in a twist."

 

Ryan rolled his eyes and took a long drink before he responded, "It was a shitty thing to do, there are dudes in the league who have to hide who they are, and those two idiots made a big fucking joke of it, and then everyone's an immature asshole about the whole thing, and Torts is never going to stop being pissed off, so it fucks up everything. It's not really funny."

 

Nate shook his head, irritated, "You're such a bitch when you're injured, you take offense to  _ everything _ . It's just a fucking prank, and like you said, they're already annulling it, so why are you being such a pussy about it?"

 

"Oh fuck off, Nate," Ryan muttered, setting his beer down a little too hard, the bartender shooting a glare in his direction.

 

He'd hoped that coming home would be a relief, but it had turned out to just be more of the same.


	5. Chapter 5

Ryan got back to Columbus on Sunday afternoon, nearly a full 24 hours before the team had practice after the break. Not that it mattered much if he was with them; he would spend the day on a stationary bike and then with the medical staff, trying to figure out just what tweaked his back for this most recent setback. But at least he could hang out with the guys, which was normally a respite during recovery. Though with everything going on right now, he wasn't sure he was ready to be around the rest of the team.

 

Which is why he didn't bother to tell any of them when he got back. He was four episodes deep into the latest season of  _ Stranger Things _ when someone knocked on his door. He glanced at his phone--no notifications--and then he padded over and looked through the peephole. Boone.

 

"Did you know it can take four to six fucking weeks for an annulment to be finalized in Nevada?" Boone said as soon as Ryan opened the door, carrying a bag emblazoned with the logo for Thurman's, one of Ryan and Boone's favorite restaurants, and a six-pack of beer, stepping inside without hesitation.

 

Ryan blinked at him but moved aside anyway; he didn't realize anyone knew he was in town already. "I guess that makes sense, it's a legal thing…" he answered, mostly confused, following Boone into his kitchen, where he was moving around comfortably, grabbing Ryan's bottle opener.

 

"Like we signed the paperwork in under  _ twenty-four hours _ , how does it take so long?" he opened two of the beers and slid one over the counter to Ryan, putting the other four in the fridge. "Fuckin' Leo texted me a screenshot, he changed my last name to Jones in his phone. Dick."

 

Ryan made a face and huffed. He was still trying not to think about the whole Boone being  _ married _ thing. "You know your brothers love to give you shit. Hell,  _ my _ brothers were giving me shit and I didn't even get wasted and marry anyone."

 

Boone grinned and started unpacking the bag of takeout. "How are your brothers? They haven't been down for a trip yet this season, what the hell's the deal?"

 

"Well the twins are in college and Nate's got an actual job now, so they might not be able to make it down," Ryan took a drink of his beer. "I didn't even realize you knew I was home."

 

"I wasn't sure if you were, but I thought if you were, you'd wanna watch the Royal Rumble. That Women's Rumble sounds kind of badass," Boone wasn't quite making eye contact, like he was trying too hard to act like nothing was wrong, like nothing had changed.

 

There was a lot of time in their friendship where it wasn't weird hanging out like this, just the two of them, eating takeout and drinking beer, bullshitting about whatever was on the TV. But they hadn't really done this much since they got their own places. Sometimes they'd both end up at Andy's place for a football game, or Scotty would order an MMA fight and the whole crew of Jackets single guys would show up. 

 

But Boone and Ryan alone hadn't spent much time like this over the last year or so. It wasn't that Ryan didn't  _ want _ it, but there was undeniably part of him that wondered what brought this on. "Aren't any of the other guys back yet?" He hadn't meant it to sound so standoffish, but Boone looked startled nonetheless.

 

"Well shit, Murrs," he said, brow tightening, "if you need to invite the other guys to hang out with me, feel free. I just thought we could hang out, it's been a while."

 

"No, no, it's fine," Ryan backpedaled, his face scrunched, "you just usually aren't much for staying in."

 

"Well no, but given how the last week went, probably should give it a rest," he took out another takeout container from the bag. "Here, Jason burger with no tomato, that's your order, yeah?"

 

Ryan nodded, taking the burger, "So I'm the backup plan. Good to know."

 

"For fuck's sake, what's up your ass lately?" Boone snapped. "Look, everyone's pissed about us getting the whole team punished, and everyone's being fucking weird about it all."

 

"You're not really making me feel better about being the consolation prize here, Bam," Ryan rolled his eyes and took his takeout box to the couch.

 

"Great, so you're gonna be fucking weird with me too? Awesome." Boone set his beer down hard, angrily ripping a few paper towels from the roll. "Everyone acts like I'm gonna jump them if I'm alone in a room with them, so are you gonna pull that shit too? Gotta say, Murrs, I didn't take you for the homophobic type."

 

"The fuck are you even  _ talking  _ about?" Ryan looked up when Boone came into the room, visibly annoyed but flopping down on the couch next to him regardless. "I know you're not gonna start hitting on me or some shit, just kinda irritated at all this 'well you were the last option since I can't go out and everyone else is being a dick' bullshit."

 

"You're not a last fucking option, you just seemed really...awkward after the marriage stuff," Boone hunched in on himself, picking up several french fries and stuffing them in his mouth. "I didn't know if you'd want to hang out."

 

"Well I still think you're a fucking idiot for it," Ryan shrugged a shoulder, "but whatever. You're the one dealing with all the stupid rainbow shit these morons are putting everywhere. If hanging out here gets you a break from that, you're welcome to stick around."

 

"Don't sound so excited about it," Boone muttered into the mouth of his beer bottle. 

 

Just like spending time together one-on-one, Ryan and Boone hadn't bickered since they each got their own places. Nowadays they weren't together enough to annoy each other. As uncomfortable as it was now, this sniping at each other and not knowing where they stood, part of Ryan didn't hate it. During the hell year, both of them sore and grumpy and frustrated, they'd bickered all the time. They drove each other nuts more often than not. But the irritation never lasted and before long they'd forgotten whatever they were fighting about.

 

Boone took the remote and clicked around until they were watching the first match of the Royal Rumble, each offering stilted, short comments at first, then slowly getting more into it, critiquing it as they each relaxed into the familiarity of time spent with an old friend.

 

They were halfway through the pay-per-view before Ryan finally went back to something Boone had said before. "Are the guys seriously being weird about you now? Like you're gonna suddenly start groping them or some shit?"

 

"No one is going to  _ say  _ that or anything, but there's definitely a lot of awkwardness. Like I'd wanna fuck any of those assholes anyway," Boone rolled his eyes and finished his second beer. 

 

"Well no, I saw the dimes you were bringing home, you're not settling for like, Andy's babyface or anything," Ryan forced his voice to stay light, airy, like this whole conversation wasn't twisting his insides into knots. "I mean, at least Jonesy doesn't look like a Cabbage Patch kid."

 

"Well I don't wanna fuck  _ Jonesy  _ either," Boone grimaced and shook his head, letting it flop back against the cushion. "It was stupid as shit, doing all that. Way to fuck up everything for everyone, eh? Maybe everyone's right and you  _ should _ be my keeper."

 

Ryan ignored the dull ache that had taken hold in his chest and hadn't left, not since he woke up that morning in Vegas. He took a long, slow drink of his beer, draining the last of it. "Just don't  _ marry _ anybody else and I think you'll be okay, yeah?"

 

Boone looked over at Ryan, a smirk playing on his lips and his voice laced with heavy sarcasm, "Infinite wisdom there, Murrs. This is why you're the smart one."

 

"Stick with me, kiddo," Ryan gave a big, obnoxious wink. "I'll keep you in line."

____

 

Ryan made sure he was awake and out the door extra early on Monday. If he could get changed and into the weight room before the rest of the team got here, hopefully he could avoid the gay jokes and marriage references.

 

Unfortunately, he wasn't the first one into the room. 

 

Seth and Boone's stalls were both covered in pink streamers, a rainbow flag draped over each. A bridal veil hung from the top shelf of Boone's stall, a lacy Jackets-themed garter from Seth's. Ryan shook his head and muttered a few curses beneath his breath. He started to work at pulling down the decorations from Boone's stall first. Maybe he could finish before anyone else got here.

 

"Murr, what are you doing?! You can't take all that down already, I wanna snapchat their faces when they see it!" Savard yanked the rainbow flag out of Murr's hands, once again hanging it strategically over the seat of Boone's stall. "It's gonna be fucking hilarious."

 

"Don't you think that putting shit online after everything that happened is a  _ bad _ idea?" Ryan crossed his arms over his chest. "Torts is gonna be pissed."

 

"I only let friends view my Snaps, no one else is gonna see it," Savard rolled his eyes and sat at his locker, pulling out his phone. 

 

"It's on you when Torts loses his shit about it," Ryan shrugged and sat down, starting to strip out of his street clothes. He was almost done changing before anyone else showed up. 

 

"Holy shit, Savy, you came through!" Dubi howled with laughter when he walked into the room, wheezing as he checked out Savard's handiwork in Seth and Boone's stalls. "The garter is a damn nice touch, buddy. I can't wait to see their fucking faces."

 

Ryan rolled his eyes but finished getting changed.

 

"Murrs was being a pussy about it, saying Torts is gonna bitch; I think he'll love it," David held up his phone. "I'm gonna post their reactions on Snapchat, it's going to be awesome."

 

"Oh, Torts is over all of that shit now, we won in Arizona," Dubinsky agreed, "he's gonna find all this frilly shit hysterical. Stop being such a bitch, Murrs."

 

Ryan took a breath and gritted his teeth, "Whatever you say, boys, good luck with that one."

 

The rest of the team started to filter in, fresh off of a long weekend away, appearing rested, save for maybe Zach, who looked a little drained. He must've continued the party the whole time he was in Tampa. Underage or not, apparently no one bothered with refusing to serve him.

 

"Holy shit, who put this up? Savy? You're a fuckin' genius, this is awesome," Calvert flicked at one of the streamers on Seth's locker. "I can't wait until they get here."

 

Boone arrived first and stopped still a step into the dressing room. "Are you fuckin' kidding me, guys?"

 

Savy was sitting in his stall, phone up, filming Boone's reaction. "Bam, buddy! Welcome back! We wanted to make sure you felt at home, so I did a little decorating! I would've grabbed you a teddy for the honeymoon, but I didn't know your size."

 

"You're a fuckin' asshole, Savy," Boone tore down the veil from his stall, throwing it at him.

 

Ryan sighed, frustrated, and leaned back in his stall. Better to not draw unnecessary attention to himself. He'd already voiced his complaints, anything else would look suspicious.

 

"Jonesy's coming down the hall!" Scotty poked his head into the room, and Savard turned his camera on again, readying himself.

 

"I fucking hate all of you," Boone muttered, ripping down the streamers and throwing them in the general direction of the trash.

 

Seth entered to wolf whistles, hoots and hollers, Dubi throwing some of the discarded streamer at him, "Jonesy! The groom is here! Well, you're the groom, yeah? We just figured, I mean."

 

"Hey, boys, y'know. Columbus is a real gay-friendly place," Savy chirped, "I bet you could find yourselves a great little gay community to embrace an adorable couple like you two. You could double date to drag shows and shit."

 

Dubi thrust a handful of papers at Seth. "Hey, I looked it up, they're taking applications for the Pride Parade, you two should do a float! You better get on that quick!"

 

Seth clenched his jaw for a moment and threw the papers in the trash. "Alright, guys, you're all just  _ fucking hilarious _ with this shit," he spun to face them, clearly in no mood for argument. "In case you fucking missed it, you're supposed to be veterans on this team, right? Setting examples and shit? Well we've got some real young, impressionable minds around here, don't we?" He motioned at PLD and then Sonny. "So the example you set is how to be a homophobic piece of shit? Way to go, guys."

 

"It's not homophobic!" Savy argued, making a face. "We're just fucking with you two. It's fucking funny shit."

 

"Savy, fuck off, it's not that funny. Besides, you never know who might hear this shit," Seth started to clean out his own locker. "Like maybe somebody's got gay friends or relatives, and you're all in here whooping it up like being gay is this hilarious damn joke. What the fuck is wrong with you? It's 2018."

 

"Oh come off it, Jonesy, we're just fucking with you," Dubinsky rolled his eyes.

 

"You're being  _ assholes _ ," Seth corrected. "And you should fucking stop it already, you're being bad influences on the kids."

 

Ryan watched the whole scene curiously; Boone was just as quiet, and Seth was visibly annoyed as he finished cleaning out his stall. Dubi and Calvert were muttering to each other, loud enough for only each other to hear. Ryan hadn't expected the outburst from Jonesy, but maybe it could put an end to the worst of this; in any case, Ryan appreciated it, and his (admittedly irrational) anger at Seth eased.


	6. Chapter 6

The teasing ended abruptly. It might have been the lecture from Seth, but more likely it stopped because of Boone's absence from practice the next day, and the news that it was excused for a "personal matter." While chirping was an accepted and encouraged practice in any locker room, the lines between team and family blurred often; when one of your brothers was hurting, you didn't kick him while he was down.

 

So when Boone wasn't at practice, needless to say, no rainbow flags were hung that morning.

 

Once practice was over, Ryan didn't hesitate to send him a text to check in.

 

_ What happened? Everyone okay? _

 

It didn't matter if they hadn't been as close lately; Ryan knew Boone's brothers, knew his mother. He'd had dinner with his grandparents before. Boone knew Ryan's family the same. You don't live with someone for years without getting to know their relatives.

 

_ not really. Gramma t died. _

 

Ryan stopped for coffee on the way back to their building and didn't even bother to stop at his own place before going to knock on Boone's door. Boone answered a long moment later, dressed in pajama pants and a team-issued hoodie with Ryan's number 27 on the shoulder--they'd both ended up with some of each other's stuff in the move--his hair stuck out all over, eyes rimmed with red, nose pink.

 

"Hey," Ryan said simply, holding up one of the Tim Hortons cups. 

 

Boone gave a half-hearted smile and took it, stepping back to let Ryan in. "Trying to figure out how to get home," he explained, motioning to the Macbook on the coffee table. "Funeral's tomorrow."

 

Ryan sat next to him on the couch and rested a hand on his shoulder, smiling faintly, sympathetic. "When are you leaving?"

 

"Trying to get a flight out tonight, I'll have to get back Friday morning," he trailed off, tapping around. "But there aren't really any flights to Dorchester."

 

"Want me to go with you?"

 

"I mean, practice…" Boone shrugged one shoulder weakly.

 

"Boone. I haven't had a normal practice in weeks," Ryan arched an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure I can be gone for a day, Torts probably won't even  _ notice.  _ I'll give the trainers a heads up, but I don't think it'll be a problem."

 

Boone took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. When he spoke, his voice was small, "If you don't mind. Yeah. I'd appreciate it."

 

Finding a flight was the most difficult part. The best option was Toronto--but it was still nearly a two hour drive to Boone's hometown after they arrived. They could fly to Detroit, but that still involved more than two extra hours of travel. In the end, it just made more sense to skip the flight idea and just make it a road trip. They could split it up, Boone insisted, but Ryan expected to do most of the drive; he wasn't the one grieving.

 

"I'm gonna go pack a few things, then we'll take my car, yeah?" Ryan rubbed a hand over Boone's back as he stood. 

 

"I'll be ready," Boone nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

 

An hour later they were en route, both quiet, lost in thought. The silence wasn't unwelcome, wasn't uncomfortable. They'd spent nights like this when they lived together, not needing to speak. It was familiar, comforting in its own way.

 

The circumstances were far less than ideal, but all the same, Ryan had missed this.

____

 

It was late when they finally got to Dorchester; the sun had gone down hours before. Boone had dozed off at different parts of the drive, and Ryan wasn't going to interrupt if he wanted to get some rest. He'd been to Boone's hometown before, and the Nav system on his car led the way anyhow. Once they got inside the city limits, though, he woke Boone and surrendered the steering wheel. As he watched houses pass, it occurred to him that he'd been so concerned about getting Boone here that he'd completely forgotten to look at hotel rooms for himself.

 

"Shit," he muttered to himself, scanning Expedia on his phone.

 

"What's going on?" Boone glanced at him for a moment, one eyebrow arched.

 

"Forgot to book a room for me, I'm trying to find something."

 

Boone looked at him like he'd sprouted a second head. "Why the hell would you need a hotel? You've stayed at my mom's house before."

 

"Well yeah, but I figure that with everything happening, your family's going to be there," he frowned a little bit, "I just don't want to intrude."

 

"You're not, you're here to support me. You can just stay with us."

 

"If you're sure I won't be in the way…"

 

Boone shook his head. "You're part of the family today, Murrs."

 

Sure enough, when they arrived at Boone's mom's house, Ryan was welcomed in as if he was one of her sons as well. She pulled him into a tight hug. 

 

"Thank you for driving with Boone, and for being here," she pressed a hand to his cheek and gave a watery smile. "It means a lot to him."

 

Ryan looked down, shrugging it off. "It's nothing at all, I just wanted to be here for you guys. I'm so sorry for your loss."

 

"Still, you're a good friend, Ryan. Come on, there's dinner in the kitchen."

 

The buffet of food was most certainly not on their typical in-season diet plans, but it was delicious nonetheless. The heavy meal and the long drive started to set in; before long both Boone and Ryan were yawning into their hands and Boone's mom was ushering them off to bed. 

 

"Your aunt and uncle are in the guest room, so you boys are gonna have to bunk together for the night," she explained, guiding them down the hall toward Boone's old bedroom. The bedroom at the end of the hall. With just one double bed.

 

Right. No problem. Just part of the family tonight. 

 

Despite Ryan's internal panic, Boone seemed to have no such reservations. As soon as his mom closed the door behind them, he was shucking off his shirt and jeans, unconcerned. He was already in pajama pants before Ryan had even pulled his out of his overnight bag. Ryan changed while Boone was brushing his teeth, and when Ryan came back from doing the same, he was already under the blankets, trying awkwardly to only take up half the mattress. "It's gonna be a little close here, but I think we can both fit."

 

"I can just take the floor…"

 

"With a back injury, yeah, that's a great idea," Boone rolled his eyes and tugged the blankets back. "Shut up and come on, I'm exhausted." When Ryan hesitated, Boone sighed deeply. "I'm not gonna like, dryhump you or anything, I thought we were over that."

 

Ryan's cheeks went bright red and so he flipped the light off. "Oh fuck off, I'm just trying to figure out how I'm gonna fit in there with your chubby ass."

 

"Chubby!?"

 

"If the snug t-shirt fits, bud," Ryan played off his embarrassment as he climbed into bed next to Boone, pinching the small bit of pudge at his waistline.

 

"You're the worst."

 

"Go to bed, Boone."

 

The bed was cramped and Ryan was all too aware of how close Boone was, could feel the warmth of his body. He fell asleep almost immediately anyway.

____

 

When Ryan woke the next morning, he had one foot hanging off the bed and the heavy weight of Boone's upper body weighing down his opposite shoulder. Boone was snoring faintly, sprawled on his back, taking far more space on the bed than was fair. 

 

Ryan grunted and nudged Boone over to the other side, trying not to wake him. Boone grumbled and moved to curl on his side facing the wall, going right back to sleep. There were noises throughout the house, Boone's family up and about, getting ready for the funeral. They would have to get up and dressed soon. Ryan definitely needed to shave before they could leave, so he slipped from beneath the blankets.

 

"Mm, fuck, what time's'it?" Boone mumbled into his pillow. 

 

"Almost eight. I'm gonna go shave and get a quick shower if it's free; I think everyone's up already."

 

"Thanks again for coming for this, mom appreciates it," Boone stretched out on the bed, his shirt pulling up to show a jut of hip bone where his pajama pants were hanging low. "And me, of course. It....means a lot."

 

Ryan smiled and shrugged a shoulder, "Don't mention it. Get your ass up, we can't be late for this."

 

They both washed and dressed quickly, dark suits that nearly matched. His mom was ready to leave before they were, so they just agreed to meet her there, and the two of them drove in silence.

 

Once at the church, Ryan went for one of the back rows, but Boone dragged him forward, where his mom had saved them two seats. "I can sit back there…"

 

"Part of the family for now, Murr," Boone insisted, pulling Ryan to sit next to him. He took a shaky breath and tugged the collar of his shirt. There was a tic in his jaw that didn't ease any once the pastor found his way to the front of the congregation to start the memorial service. 

 

Boone was sniffling and clearing his throat, doing his best to hold it together while his mother cried quietly on his other side. He was being a tough guy. Apparently he thought he had to be.

 

Ryan glanced at him every few moments, gauging his reactions, and when his eyes were shining and he was biting his lip hard enough to turn it white, Ryan reached over and squeezed his knee. Boone jumped slightly at first, but then he turned to give a weak, watery smile, and laid his hand upon Ryan's, holding it in place.

 

They sat like that through the service, Boone squeezing Ryan's hand from time to time, his palm clammy and warm. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, and the silent show of support seemed to soothe the worst of Boone's anxiety, his jaw smoothed out and his bite no longer clenched.

 

When the memorial sermon was over and the family stood, Boone hugged his mom, holding her close. She turned to hug Leo and then Cole, and Boone turned the other way, hauling Ryan into a hug, one hand at the back of Ryan's head. "Thanks so much, Murr," his voice was soft and shaky with tears, and Ryan returned the embrace in kind, rubbing comforting circles over Boone's back. 

 

Ryan got swept up with the rest of the family to drive to the cemetery, shoved into the back seat of a too-small sedan between Boone and Cole. Boone found Ryan's hand again and squeezed it, just holding it there and making no big deal of it. It made Ryan's skin warm and his ears pink, but he didn't bother moving. It helped Boone feel better--and he didn't mind the intimacy of it himself. He stood close with Boone at the cemetery as well, hand clasped with his, which no one seemed to notice, or care.

 

At the wake later, Boone's mom caught him in a rare moment when he was alone. "Thank you for coming, Ryan. It meant a lot to all of us, but especially Boone. It's a good thing to know you're around for him." She gave him a tight hug. "Keep an eye on my boy, yeah? He's an idiot sometimes, but he's a good kid." 

 

She was referring to the Vegas thing, of course, but this was certainly not the time or place to speak about it. Ryan nodded his understanding. "I'll keep him in line, Mrs. Jenner."

 

"Terri," she rolled her eyes fondly. "You make me feel old when you say that."

 

"Are you nagging Murr?" Boone interrupted when he found them.

 

"I'm telling Ryan he's a sweet boy who's too good for you," she patted Boone's cheek. "And I'm telling him to watch out for you so you don't do anything stupid again."

 

Boone's cheeks flushed and he almost pouted, though he conceded quickly. "Okay, fine. Fair point."

 

Ryan would have liked to stay longer, but the Jackets had a game the following night and at some point they had to get on the road again. There were hugs all around, from Boone's family members that he knew--and a few that he didn't--and then they had Cole take them back to Ryan's car. The house was silent as they changed back to traveling clothes and packed their bags. 

 

The drive was quiet too, both of them lost in thought. Ryan jumped when Boone finally spoke.

 

"I hate that the last thing my grandmother saw my dumbass do was a press conference about getting drunk and marrying fuckin' Jonesy," Boone muttered. "Huge fucking embarrassment to the family right before she died."

 

"I'm sure that's not what she thought," Ryan frowned, glancing at Boone from the corner of his eye. "It was a dumb mistake, but your grandmother knew what you're really like."

 

"Still, it just sucks. I always thought my grandmother would be there when I  _ actually _ got married, but we ended up like this instead," Boone sighed deeply, slumping back in his seat, wiping angrily at his eyes.

 

"Your grandmother loved you, that didn't change because you messed up," Ryan reached over to squeeze Boone's knee. "In the end, none of what happened in Vegas matters to her."

 

Boone took a shaky breath, exhaling slow. "I disappointed everyone. Gramma, my mom, the team,  _ you _ …"

 

Ryan grimaced but stared straight ahead. "It wasn't...I wasn't disappointed in you. I just didn't expect it. I probably overreacted." 

 

"You were disappointed, Murr. I saw the look on your face."

 

Ryan chewed on the inside of his lip for a long moment, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. "Well, maybe a little. But even if I was disappointed, even if anyone else was disappointed--it doesn't matter. The people who care about you aren't gonna hold it against you in the end."

 

Ryan knew everything he'd said was trite and contrived, but it must have been enough to appease Boone, because he dropped the topic and much of the rest of the drive was quiet, amiably so. By the time they arrived back in Columbus it was after midnight, and Boone had nodded off an hour before.

 

"Bam, get up, we're home," Ryan nudged him once he parked the car. "My back's not good enough to carry your ass upstairs."

 

Boone grumbled, blinking his eyes open, squinting when the overhead light turned on. "Mm, sorry, I was out pretty good."

 

"Long day," Ryan grabbed his bag and handed the other to Boone.

 

Boone didn't push the button for his floor when they got on the elevator. 

 

"I know you just woke up, but you do need to hit the right button if you wanna go home tonight," Ryan chuckled and stabbed the number for Boone's floor.

 

Boone hesitated for a moment before speaking, voice small, "I thought you might not care if I crashed on your couch. It's too quiet in my place."

 

Ryan was opening his mouth to suggest a playlist on Spotify before he thought better of it. "I've got a guest room, bud, you don't need to sleep on the couch. Come on." Boone followed him down the hall to his apartment, eyes bloodshot and shoulders slumped.

 

While Boone got comfortable in the second bedroom, Ryan set up a bluetooth speaker on the dresser and tapped around on his phone. "This playlist is good when I can't sleep."

 

Boone stretched out on the bed and gave a soft grin. "Always takin' care of me, Murr."

 

Ryan smiled in return, offering a wink. "Someone's gotta do it."


	7. Chapter 7

The blender whirring away in the kitchen jolted Ryan awake the next morning. He padded out of his room in pajama pants and a t-shirt old enough that the collar was fraying and there was a hole under one arm.

 

Boone had apparently found the folded laundry Ryan had left in a basket in the living room; he was wearing one of Ryan's hoodies. He had a pot of coffee going and was blending up a protein shake. Just like he had done countless times when they were still living together.

 

Ryan leaned against the island, watching Boone move around his kitchen with ease, knowing exactly which drawer housed the utensils, what cabinet held the shaker cups; Ryan wasn't sure when he would've figured out where he kept everything. "Morning."

 

Boone glanced over his shoulder and gave a wide smile. "There's coffee made, and there's a protein shake in the fridge for you."

 

Ryan grinned and ruffled Boone's hair as he passed him, grabbing a mug and mixing up his coffee. "I know you usually did all of this when we lived together, but I swear I can do it all myself."

 

Boone shrugged and poured his shake into a cup, moving to the sink to clean out Ryan's blender. "You drove all night, and then you let me crash here; I owed you."

 

"Don't worry about it, I was happy to help," Ryan took a long drink of his coffee, letting it warm and wake him. "Wanna ride to the rink together?"

 

"Yeah, I'll drive this time, we put enough miles on your car yesterday. Hurry up so we're not late," he nudged Ryan back toward his bedroom.

 

Everything fell back into place like they hadn't lived apart for a year. Boone knew Ryan's tendency to move slow in the morning, that his brain didn't fully come online until he was at least two cups of coffee deep. He knew Ryan would oversleep and eat something awful like Poptarts for breakfast if left to his own devices. He knew that without prompting, Ryan would be running out the door with just enough time to spare to drive to the arena.

 

It felt good. Familiar.

 

Ryan wished it would last longer than just the morning.

____

 

While hockey players loved nothing more than ripping on each other for doing dumb shit, team was still family, and when a family member was sad, you didn't kick him while he was down. Instead of the constant gay jokes from before, now when Boone entered the room he was greeted with hugs and claps on the shoulder. Cam said his wife wanted to stop over later with dinner; Nick took him to one of the trainer's rooms to give him a quick captainly pep talk. The circumstances that forced a break from the Vegas wedding mockery were shitty, but it was still nice to get a break from it.

 

"Murr, buddy, feeling okay after the drive?" Seth sat next to him while Ryan changed after practice.

 

"Little bit stiff, but otherwise I'm great," Ryan was trying to get over the lingering irritation at Jonesy. He knew it was irrational, and he was almost past it; it just wasn't entirely gone yet.

 

"Wanna grab lunch after? My treat."

 

"Uh, yeah, sure. I rode in with Boone, I can ask if he wants to come too," Ryan glanced up to find him.

 

"Nah, I'll drive you home, wanted to talk to you about something," Seth bumped his fist to Ryan's and disappeared.

 

Nothing good ever came out of a premise like that.

____

 

They settled in at the Guild House an hour later, and Ryan focused on just reading his menu, trying to ignore the anxiety twisting his stomach in knots. The restaurant was quiet, the business lunch crowd had already left to go back to the office, so there were several empty tables surrounding them.

 

The server came and took their orders, leaving them in awkward silence and Ryan without even a wine list to pore over.

 

"I just wanted to make sure you know it meant nothing," Jonesy blurted after a long moment. "The whole Vegas thing. It was dumb as shit and that's all."

 

Ryan's eyes snapped up from where he'd been staring at his cuticles. "Huh? I mean, yeah, I know that, of course."

 

"I'm just really sorry about it all, how it went down," Seth turned his fork over and over, keeping his hands occupied. "I mean, you seemed kinda bothered, so I just wanted to clarify. Just dumb drunk bullshit, that's all."

 

Ryan was fighting to keep his breathing steady and his gaze nonchalant, but he could feel the blood pounding in his ears. Shit, why did Jonesy feel the need to explain himself for this? Was Ryan that pathetic? That obvious?

 

"No, no," Ryan shook his head, forcing out an unconvincing laugh. "Of course, it was just the alcohol and all, I get it, I wasn't...bothered. It was just, um, weird. But hilarious, of course."

 

"Look you've both just been off this year, you know?" Seth went on, and Ryan didn't have to ask who the other half of 'both' was. "He's been doing dumb shit and he's miserable all the fuckin' time, and you just seem like you're avoiding everyone. I just think you two should...talk, or something."

 

"We were together for two days straight, we're okay," Ryan insisted, wishing he could come up with literally anything to change the subject.

 

"Hang out with us some more, eh? He gets all cranky when you don't, you know what a grumpy asshole he can be," Seth shook his head. "And you're kind of the same way…"

 

"Hey!"

 

Seth ignored Ryan's protest, "...when you're not hanging around him, so just stop being so weird and hang out with us. He bitches when you blow us off."

 

Ryan gave a smile to the server when his plate was deposited in front of him, but it faded as soon as they were alone again. "I don't try to blow you guys off, I'm just not a clubbing kind of guy, I figured you were having fun on your own."

 

Jonesy took a bite of his food and rolled his eyes, "We _would_ if Bam wasn't such a miserable bastard sometimes. Just think about it, eh?"

 

Ryan chewed slowly, staring at his lamb burger. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be around more. Just didn't think it mattered."

 

"Well it does," Seth nodded once, and they ate in silence for a moment. "But..for Vegas. I am sorry for all of that."

 

Ryan waved him off, "Don't mention it, no need to apologize to me." He waited a beat before adding, "And, uh, thanks for speaking up in the room, when everyone was being a dick with the gay jokes and all of that. They weren't listening to me for shit."

 

Seth gave a lopsided smile, and Ryan was pretty sure he knew too much, but there was no going back now. "Least I could do, Murr. Least I could do."

____

 

They played a home game that night, and Boone scored a goal. Ryan was the first one in the hallway to the locker room to congratulate him. "For Gramma, eh?"

 

"For Gramma," Boone nodded, a melancholy smile on his face. He was sweaty and his gear stunk to hell, but Ryan still offered a one-armed hug. He'd get his suit cleaned later.

 

The team was away the next night, and while Ryan had been traveling with them, it was just a one game trip; it was pointless for Ryan to tag along. He could just stay in Columbus and keep trying to get his body back in shape. The ache in his back was easing, and he was trying to not get his hopes up too quickly. He'd thought he was better a month ago, and then the pain flared up once more. Torts hadn't necessarily been too understanding about his situation, but John Davidson--the real head honcho--had given him the green light to take his time getting healthy, so he planned to make sure he was fully ready to go before he went back to playing. No point in going back for just one or two games and then landing on the IR again.

 

The team lost to the Islanders and were home late that same night. Ryan was already in bed, strumming idly on his guitar, when his phone buzzed from next to him on the dresser.

 

_hey i hope ur still up. i left a few things in ur guest room can i grab them?_

 

Ryan hadn't seen any of Boone's stuff in there, but then he hadn't even changed the sheets yet, so it wasn't as if he'd looked closely or anything. He climbed out of bed and texted back as he padded over to the door.

 

_door's unlocked, come in whenever you get here_

 

Ryan settled himself on the couch while he waited, fingertips playing lightly along the strings of his guitar, unconcerned about his worn, stretched out pajama pants. Boone had seen him hungover, seen him with food poisoning, seen him with the flu and even crying in frustration over injuries. Worn out sweats weren't a big deal.

 

Boone knocked lightly before pushing the door open, and he grinned over at Ryan when he noticed him. He was still in his game suit, beanie on; he must have come straight from the airport. He set his travel bag next to the door and toed off his shoes. "Playing anything new, or the same old Johnny Cash songs?"

 

"Same old, same old. The classics never go outta style," Ryan set the guitar aside.

 

"I should've gotten you to teach me some of that when we were living together," he sat next to Ryan on the couch and tugged the hat from his head, hair flattened on both sides and sticking up awkwardly on top. "Sometimes I just want some noise in my place, and it's not the same when it's just Alexa playing some music."

 

Ryan itched to tame Boone's hair, to pet it down into some kind of submission. But that was probably a little too familiar. "Bam, buddy, what's with your mop?"

 

Boone grimaced and raked a hand self-consciously through his hair.  "That's why I had to stop! I forgot to grab my pomade shit before I left for the rink yesterday; I didn't have anything in my toiletry bag for my hair, so I just shoved a hat on, and that clearly wasn't a good idea."

 

Ryan chuckled and shook his head, taking the knit cap from Boone's grasp and using it to smack him in the face. "Draggin' me out of bed because you forgot your hair product? It's a good thing I like you."

 

"Shit, you were in bed already?" Boone furrowed his brow, "You're usually up pretty late, I didn't think anything of it."

 

"I mean, it's after midnight, so I'm not an old man or anything," Ryan defended himself. "But I wasn't sleeping yet anyway, just playing some music to wind down. I'm just giving you shit."

 

Boone stood up and yawned, "Fuck, I don't even feel like going up to my place. You care if I just crash here again? I'll even change the sheets for you tomorrow."

 

Ryan watched him curiously and followed him back toward the guest room, "My guest bed isn't nearly as nice as your bed upstairs probably is, but if you wanna just spend the night, you're welcome. Late practice tomorrow anyway."

 

Boone nodded and turned to grab his travel bag, hitching it up over his shoulder. "You're the best, Murr, thanks. And could you maybe cue up that playlist you had going the other night? It definitely helped me sleep easier."

 

"Get yourself ready, I'll get the music going."

 

Boone didn't bother closing the door, didn't even seem to notice when Ryan came back into the room, instead stood in just a pair of snug black boxers while he dug into his bag, holding up his pajamas triumphantly when he found them. "There we are, I can sleep now. Thanks for letting me crash again."

 

"Don't mention it," Ryan kept his eyes averted while Boone finally finished changing. "If you feel the need to repay me for it, there's some cleaning bullshit I need to tackle that I'm happy to pass off to a willing victim."

 

Boone pulled his pajama pants on and shook his head, "Everyone gives me a hard time for being a mess, but you're a _literal_ mess without me around to clean up after you."

 

Ryan chuckled and leaned in the doorway, "Hey, I've got a maid service that stops once a week, that's enough."

 

Boone sprawled out on the bed, no shirt on, scratching his belly and yawning. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud."

 

"Damn right, like a baby. Night, Boone."


	8. Chapter 8

The Blue Jackets had only one game over the next five days, which meant lots of free time. Boone had spent much of Sunday lazing on Ryan's couch--he didn't even make it back to his own apartment until late in the afternoon. 

 

Monday the maid came as scheduled, and as Ryan was out of the house and planning for dinner, he thought about lunch with Seth, about the suggestion that he should go out with the boys more often. Monday wasn't an ideal day for going out, but with OSU so close, it meant that there was no night of the week where bars would be empty. 

 

_ Boys, Marcella's tonight. Dinner and the first round's on me! _

 

Ryan sent the group text out to all the regular suspects: Jonesy, Andy, Scotty, Wenny, and of course Boone. The responses were mostly thumbs up emojis, and even Alex, who Ryan expected to decline so he could spend time with his girlfriend, confirmed he would join them. 

 

_ Murr! About damn time you're coming out! _ From Jonesy, as if he hadn't suggested it himself.

 

Boone was the last to respond.  _ We'll take an uber over together!  _ And then there were a string of beer and thumbs up emojis. 

 

Few things got hockey players excited more than free food and booze, so everyone showed up early and enthusiastic. By the time the Uber driver dropped Boone and Ryan off at the door, everyone else had already arrived. 

 

"It's about time, guys," Josh groaned and started walking toward the door. "Come the hell on, there's a giant beer with my name on it, and Murr's paying."

 

The hostess led them to a table toward the back, a large booth where all six of them could fit comfortably, or at least something close to it. Wenny shoved Ryan toward the inside of the booth and Jonesy did the same with Boone. "Murr's gotta get sandwiched in the back of the booth there, he's been blowing us off all season. And Boone's gotta have his keeper anyway."

 

Boone laughed and threw an arm amiably around Ryan's shoulders, "Whatever, dicks, Murr likes hanging out with me, so fuck you guys." 

 

Ryan was torn between melting into the touch and pulling away to keep himself from blushing, but fortunately Boone took his arm away in favor of going over the menu. They ordered a round of beers and a pile of appetizers that would've gotten them a stern talking-to from the team nutritionist, though Andy was all too happy to justify it. "It's a celebration, Wenny took a night off from the wife and Murr actually left his apartment for a change!"

 

After dinner, they disentangled themselves from the booth and made their way to the bar to keep drinking. After the initial chirping at his absence from these nights out, the boys all settled into the general bullshitting and one-upping each other that categorized these evenings. They went through a couple rounds of drinks, though they were all still trying to keep it responsible. They were mostly off the hook after Vegas, but no one wanted to piss off Torts.

 

After a couple of hours, the chirping slowed down and the guys all got distracted. While Boone and Ryan were debating the merits of IPAs, Andy picked up and went home with someone; Scotty then promptly struck out with her friend, much to the amusement of the rest of the crew, but he made up for it by leaving with a redhead that was going to OSU. With a decent amount of ribbing, Alex decided to leave around 10 and went home to his girlfriend.

 

One by one the group dwindled until it was just Ryan with Boone and Seth.

 

"Alright, boys, I'm callin' it a night," Jonesy said with an exaggerated yawn. Boone still had half a glass of beer and Ryan was finishing his own.

 

"Get an uber, we'll ride with you," Ryan offered, downing the last of his drink. 

 

"Nah, Boone's been nursing that beer for a half hour, he's gonna take forever," Seth ignored Boone's protests. "I'll see you two at practice tomorrow, don't do anything dumb." He clapped both of them on the back and slipped off into the crowd on his way to the door.

 

"Hey this was awesome, Murrs," Boone said once they were alone. "I thought you weren't gonna go out with us anymore."

 

Ryan ducked his head, shrugged one shoulder, "I'm not nearly as amusing to be around as Andy and Jonesy, I figured I'd just bring the room down."

 

Boone made a face, head tilted back to drain the last of his beer, "I don't know what the fuck would make you think that, we always invited you out."

 

"Well yeah, but most of the time everyone's just trying to pick up," Ryan frowned, "and you know how awkward I am about all of that."

 

"It's not  _ always _ about just picking up," Boone protested, waving down the bartender so he could close his tab. "I mean sometimes I do, but usually I just wanna hang out with the boys. You included."

 

Ryan smirked, an eyebrow arched high, " _ Sometimes _ ? Bam, I can count on one hand the times we've been out together that you haven't come away with at least 5 phone numbers. You could pick up every time we go out without even  _ trying _ ." 

 

Boone signed the credit card slip and took out his phone, "Well yeah, it happens. Not as much  _ now _ ," he paused to wiggle his tongue into the gap where his front teeth once were, "but it's not like that's the only reason I go out."

 

"Well now that we have our own places, I don't know how often you're bringing girls home," Ryan took out his phone to cue up his Uber app. "I just figured it was the same as before." It came out more annoyed than he'd intended.

 

Boone ushered Ryan toward the door, "It's not  _ that _ often. I stopped bringing them back when I knew it bothered you."

 

_ It still bothered me when you went to them _ , Ryan wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. "I know, I know. I don't mean to be such a prude, I'm just weird."

 

Boone shoved his hands in his pockets while they waited for the driver to arrive. "I just hated that you like, stopped coming with us when I moved out. Thought you were just glad to get rid of me." He was definitely a little bit drunk; he was rarely this open.

 

"Well fuck, no, it wasn't that at all," Ryan frowned and leaned close to bump his shoulder to Boone's. "I thought I was too damn boring for you guys."

 

"Well you're  _ not _ , so stop being a dick and come out with us more often." 

 

Their Uber showed up a few minutes later and they piled into the back seat. The driver was playing some kind of sultry r&b and Boone started to yawn, leaning his weight heavily into Ryan's side. They rode in silence for the short trip back to their complex. Ryan thanked the driver on their way out and he followed Boone toward their building and onto the elevator. 

 

Ryan punched the button for his floor, and without thinking, hit Boone's also.

 

"I guess I've gotta go to my own place, eh?" Boone was leaning against the corner of the elevator, resting his head against the metal. 

 

"You've already stayed at mine like, twice in the last week. My guest bed can't be  _ that  _ comfortable," Ryan shrugged. "Wanna ride together to practice?"

 

"Your turn to drive," Boone yawned again as Ryan stepped off the elevator. "And make sure you've got coffee, you're a grumpy bitch without it."

 

Ryan wanted to just climb into bed, but he knew Boone was right--without coffee he'd be a miserable asshole, and he hated mornings as it was. So he blended a protein shake and stored it in the fridge, and set up the coffee pot with a filter and grounds, he even set the timer so it would be brewing by the time he woke up. It was way nicer when Boone was around and did all of this stuff for him, but he couldn't get used to that again.

 

After changing and brushing his teeth, Ryan crawled into bed and set his alarm. As he plugged his phone in to charge it, a Snapchat notification popped up. Boone.

 

He was flopped against his own pillows, shirtless and sleepy-eyed, giving a thumbs up.

 

_ ur right, my bed's more comfy! _

 

Before Ryan even had a chance to reply an all-black snap came through. Boone had scribbled three Zs in pink.

 

_ niiiiight murrsy! _

____

 

They lost their next game; it was becoming a trend, and increasingly the mood around the rink was deteriorating. Sitting out was always rough, but watching losses was harder, because it was hard to avoid thinking that if you were just healthy, you could help. You could do your part to get them pulled out of the slump. Instead, Ryan was still on his same slow path to recovery.

 

He'd had so many setbacks that he was worried about getting too optimistic this time around, but he felt better than it had in months. He'd skated on his own several times, was traveling with the team, and the ache in his back had eased to be almost unnoticeable. It felt like maybe this time he'd actually get back on the ice, back with the team. Maybe he could help them right the ship.

 

The dads trip was coming up next. It was an odd choice, Ryan had thought when he saw the schedule. Typically trips with the fathers were somewhere warm or exciting, either Florida or Nashville or Los Angeles. This was a game in DC and then another at home in Columbus. Not the most thrilling fathers trip in the world. It was nice, though, to have his dad around. It was always amusing on dads trips, to see all the boys on their best behavior around their fathers. The language was restrained, picking up was all but nonexistent, and everyone was in bed pretty early.

 

Boone's dad had always joined them for these trips, but this year instead of his father, Boone's brother Leo stepped onto the plane with him. There was unspoken tension there; Ryan would have to ask about it later.

 

"Leo, buddy, what's going on?" Ryan shook his hand and clapped his shoulder. They'd met several times before, though he didn't know Boone's brothers as well as Boone knew his.

 

"Gotta keep an eye on this dumbass for a couple-a days," he said, jamming Boone's toque harder down on his head. 

 

Ryan laughed while Boone adjusted his hat and grumbled under his breath. "Well I've got business casual Brent with me for the weekend," he motioned over his shoulder to where his dad was sitting on the plane. "He'll be the most underdressed of the crew the whole time."

 

"Like father like son, eh Murr?" Jonesy mocked as he passed. 

 

"What? My suits are fine," Ryan protested, making a face. 

 

"Murr, buddy, you buy off the rack. That doesn't work on hockey player ass or thighs," Boone conceded, his lips twisted up like he was trying not to laugh. "You're always swimming in them. Would it kill you to visit a tailor?"

 

Ryan wrinkled his nose, "Just because everything you own is practically painted on your big old skater ass doesn't mean everyone has to dress like that!"

 

Boone lifted one eyebrow at that and pursed his lips, and it occurred to Ryan it was probably dumb to comment on Boone's ass like that, but then Dubi and his dad were coming down the aisle and trying to get to their seats, so there was no chance to step it back. Ryan went to his seat and Boone went to sit with Leo and whatever the weird moment was, it was over.

 

The dads trip started rough with a loss, their fifth in a row, and Ryan was pretty sure everyone was glad for the presence of their fathers, because it took some of the fire out of Torts' post-game dressing-down of the whole team. The short flight home to Columbus was quiet, and Brent stayed quiet even after they got home. He clapped Ryan on the shoulder and went down to the guest room.

 

There was no official game-day skate the next morning, but Ryan was still rehabbing, so he wanted a chance to get on the ice and get around, test how his body reacted. He spent a while out there by himself, slow laps and then quick sprints, tight turns and long arcs, just to see how his back felt with each.

 

_ Taking Leo's annoying ass to Grandview Cafe for lunch, wanna join and bring Brent? _

 

The text from Boone was waiting when he got off the ice and Ryan responded in the affirmative. His dad had always liked Boone--when they'd lived together, Boone always insisted on giving up his bed for Ryan's parents when they were in town--so he knew the joint lunch wouldn't bother him. Boone seemed a bit melancholy since Leo had gotten into town anyway. 

 

Boone sat across from Ryan at lunch and didn't say much. He laughed when he was supposed to, gave and took some good-natured chirping with Leo, and answered politely whenever Ryan's dad asked him a question. 

 

"You can relax, Boone," Brent said halfway through their meal. "And please stop calling me 'sir.' I tell you that every time we visit. Ryan's mom says hello, by the way. How's it been living on your own? Nice not having to clean up after this guy, eh?"

 

Ryan made a face but didn't argue; it's not like his dad was  _ wrong _ or anything. 

 

"It's been weird, mostly. At home I had my brothers, and then I had billet families, then me and Ryan lived together for years," he took a drink and sat back in his chair. "It's weird just being at home alone, so it's easier to go out with the boys. Of course, then I kinda fucked--sorry--messed that up in Vegas, so yeah, it's been a weird year."

 

Ryan's dad chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. "If you get messed up in Vegas and only come away with an annulment, I think you're doing alright. You could've blown your whole contract at a roulette table or woke up with a hooker. Worst you had to do was a stupid press conference? Not a bad deal, I think."

 

Boone stared at him for a long moment and huffed out a surprised laugh, nodding his head. "I guess that's one way to look at it, Brent, thanks." His shoulders relaxed and the smile on his face came easier now. 

 

After lunch, Leo and Brent had plans with the rest of the Jackets' dads so they took Boone's car and Ryan drove home. Boone had a game to prep for, after all, needed to get some rest. Ryan wasn't quite there yet, though. No need for a pregame nap if he wasn't going to play a game.

 

"So why's Leo here instead of your dad?" Ryan finally asked as they stood on the elevator. 

 

Boone stared straight ahead. "He just had stuff at home, he couldn't get the time away."

 

Ryan knew he was lying. "It's February and he has a farm, what could he be dealing with?"

 

"He just didn't make it this year, okay?" Boone crossed his arms over his chest and chewed on his lower lip. He followed Ryan off the elevator at his floor anyway. Ryan quirked a brow at him but held his door open while Boone followed him inside.

 

"He was really nuts after the Vegas thing," Boone said as soon as the door was closed. "He was talking like Jonesy was like, trying to 'turn me' or some weird shit like that." He paused, and then the rest all came out. "He's not really...okay with the Pride stuff or anything like that. So he just...didn't want to come. And really, he'd probably be shitty to Seth anyway, so it's probably better that he's not here."

 

"Shit, Boone," Ryan frowned. Only now did it dawn on him that his father had never made an appearance at the funeral. There was so much going on that he hadn't put it all together at the time. 

 

"Yeah, he hasn't answered my calls much in the last few weeks," Boone slumped into a stool at the breakfast bar, his shoulders hunched. "So it wasn't a surprise when he skipped out on the dads trip thing."

 

"That's bullshit," Ryan stood next to him and squeezed his shoulder supportively.

 

"I mean, he always rolled his eyes about the You Can Play stuff, so I'm not surprised or anything, but he was just...so much worse than I anticipated," Boone sighed deeply, raking fingers through his hair, leaving it stuck up all over. He paused a moment and then mimicked his father's voice. "The only time I've talked to him since it happened, he started in on me. 'It's not funny messing with that gay shit. They keep shoving it down our throats anyway, you don't need to  _ add _ to it. You should've gone out and told them what a ladies' man you are.' All of that macho bullshit."

 

"At least everyone kinda cooled it in the room," Ryan offered weakly. 

 

"Well yeah, there are no more rainbow flags in my stall, no. Savy still makes shitty little bride jokes sometimes, and I'm so fucking tired of lining up for faceoffs and having dudes ask if I'm a bottom," Boone muttered, shaking his head. "And I should probably just delete my public insta, fucking homophobic assholes keep finding it and posting the worst shit you can imagine."

 

Boone stopped himself short,  rubbing a hand over his face and shaking his head, "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm being a bitch about this, I didn't mean to get all weird."

 

Ryan had been so busy worrying about observing all the casual homophobia, being so upset about it, he had never really thought about what it was doing to Boone, being on the receiving end. "No, don't apologize at all. I hadn't really...thought about that part of it. People are awful, and then, shit, your dad acting like that." Ryan couldn't imagine his dad reacting that way. Ryan wasn't out, but his parents had always been supportive; he just always figured that if and when he did come out, they would be behind him.

 

"It's just shitty, you know?" Boone's brow was furrowed, "You're never really positive who you can trust after something like that."

 

"I should've been a better friend, when it all happened," Ryan was leaning against the counter, head hung low. "I was kind of a dick about everything, I didn't support you the way I should have. I'm really sorry."

 

Boone gave a weak, lopsided smile, "If everyone was like you were, it would have been way easier. You were weird for like, three days. But you didn't make shitty gay jokes or tell me I'm an abomination or I'm going to hell or ask how many dicks I've sucked or anything like that, so yeah, being a little bit weird was nothing."

 

"Still, I'm sorry about it all. Not a great way to react."

 

Boone took a deep breath and let it out on a long exhale, then pushed himself to stand. "Alright, enough feeling sorry for myself. I've gotta get a nap in before the game. I should go upstairs."

 

"Guest room's taken this time, sorry," Ryan chuckled softly. "Dad has his crap all over that room, no idea how he leaves such a mess in under 24 hours. Mine is the only bed in the place that doesn't have half a suitcase of stuff all over it."

 

Boone paused in thought for a moment, then shrugged a shoulder, "Eh, I'm not picky." He turned on his heel and headed down the hallway toward Ryan's room.

 

Ryan wasn't playing that night. Ryan didn't need a nap. But he flopped down on the bed next to Boone anyway.

 

Boone watched him curiously, just one corner of his lips curled up. He shifted over and made sure Ryan had enough of the blankets. "I guess I can share the bed, it  _ is _ yours, Murr."

 

"You're gonna have to, I'm already down now. Nap sequence initiated."

 

It was a queen-sized mattress, so there was plenty of space for the two of them to lay side-by-side without touching. They were both still fully clothed, and it wasn't nearly as cramped as the bed back at Boone's mom's place.

 

But he could hear Boone's breathing. He could feel the warmth coming from his side of the bed. 

 

"Sorry I've been kinda clingy lately," Boone said a few long moments later, after Ryan was sure he'd dozed off already. Ryan glanced over, surprised to find Boone watching him. He started to talk once, halted, and then continued. "It's just been a shitty couple of weeks."

 

"Don't mention it, glad to help."

 

Boone smiled and turned to lay on his side facing the window. Ryan kept staring at his back long after he'd fallen asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: there's some pretty coarse, homophobic language in this chapter.

Boone and Ryan came out of his bedroom, mussed hair and bleary eyes, an hour later. Ryan hadn't really thought about the fact that his dad could have gotten home in the meantime, but there he was on the couch. He raised just one eyebrow, nearly imperceptible, before his face went neutral. 

 

"Got a good pregame nap in, boys?" 

 

Ryan blushed and grunted something affirmative, then ducked into the kitchen, digging some vegetables out of the crisper and some chicken breasts from the fridge.

 

"Man, I crashed out, Murr's mattress is great. I gotta get one of those." Boone sat on the couch next to Ryan's dad. "Did Leo annoy the hell out of you today? He's good at that."

 

"Nah, he's a pretty good kid." Ryan's dad grinned. "It's good he was able to come this weekend. He might give you shit, but man, he was bragging about you all damn day. Can't tell you to your face, though. Ryan's brothers are the same kind of smartass, I know how they are."

 

Boone shrugged a shoulder and laughed awkwardly. "Eh, he just feels bad that my dad didn't...couldn't be here."

 

Ryan's dad smiled sympathetically and clapped Boone on the shoulder. "His loss, eh? It was a good weekend for everyone else."

 

Boone didn't stay for dinner, he went up to his own apartment to join Leo instead. Ryan and his dad ate quietly, silverware clicking. Ryan wasn't sure if he would be weird about the whole napping together thing. Even though nothing had happened other than actual sleeping.

 

"It's bullshit that Boone's dad didn't show up this weekend," his dad commented halfway through their meal. "I don't care what you feel about your kid's life, you've gotta support them. It's a shitty way to be a parent. I could never do that to you, what the hell kinda father does that?"

 

Ryan's dad was never going to be the type to have a deep conversation about emotions. Brent Murray just wasn't that kind of guy. But this--bitching about what Boone's dad did, or rather, hadn't done--was his way of letting Ryan know that whatever that whole nap thing was, it didn't really matter to him.

 

Ryan finished the bite he was chewing and smiled over at his dad. "Yeah, dad. I know." 

 

There would someday need to be a real conversation about who Ryan was--but that day wasn't today. At least now Ryan knew that when that time came, he could count on his dad to be in his corner.

____

 

After as many times as he'd been hurt and returned to the lineup, Ryan supposed he should've been used to the disconnect that came after missing a long stretch of games in a row, but it never quite became normal. Those first few games back after an injury were always...off. His morning skate routine wasn't right. He could never get rested enough during his pregame nap. His timing for arriving at the arena was delayed. He knew he would figure it out again, but those first couple of games back were always hard.

 

The first game back was in the AHL, and Ryan had never played there before anyway, so the whole experience was new. And then the Jackets were away for the next two, and road trips had their own routines. Finally he got in a game at home, and he felt like he could settle in. He taped his sticks after the morning skate, checked in with the trainers, and then he went home to nap. He had his typical pregame meal--pasta and chicken--and stopped for coffee on his way to the rink. 

 

He had time to sit on the bench before he got all of his gear on, had a few quiet moments to himself to breathe in the cold air, to feel the thrum of adrenaline in his blood. The warm up went well, and he felt good, really good for the first time since he was hurt in the first place. The game was tight throughout, and tempers flared from time to time. In the midst of a scrum near the net, he stepped up next to Boone and Patrick Kane, both spitting insults at each other.

 

"Get the fuck out of here, I'll kick your fucking ass." Boone was shoving Kane away from Bobrovsky. 

 

Kane sneered, lip curled up with disgust. "I'm not scared of a fuckin' homo."

 

Ryan stepped between them before Boone took a stupid penalty. "Go sit the fuck down, Kane, play's over."

 

"Look how fuckin' sweet you two are, aww," he skated off, making kissy-faces. 

 

Ryan kept one arm out, holding Boone back. "Not worth it, Bam. He's not fucking worth it."

 

"He's a fucking piece of  _ shit _ ." 

 

Ryan didn't disagree.

 

It wasn't the first comment made in the game, either to Boone or to Seth. It slowly dawned on Ryan that they'd been dealing with this shit for weeks, ever since Vegas. It was a miracle Boone hadn't gotten himself suspended. Every shitty chirp made Ryan's blood boil, and he'd only been dealing with it for a couple of games. The mood in the locker room had changed at least, and when anything homophobic was hurled on the ice, the rest of the team stepped up to defend them.

 

Once in a while someone would say something stupid, but overall, the locker room was once again a comfortable place for Boone and Seth, and by extension, Ryan as well. 

 

Trades always change the tone of a room, though.

 

Yet another deadline had come, and Ryan spent the whole day glued to his phone, just waiting for the ring. Just waiting for word that he was sent away to some other team, where he didn't know anyone, away from friends and the city he'd gotten used to. Ryan didn't want to go anywhere, especially not now, when he and Boone were figuring out their friendship again. How they could be friends even if they were no longer living together. Though to be honest, Boone was spending almost as much time at Ryan's apartment as his own lately.

 

But 1 pm came, then 2, and then 3. Not out of the woods for another half hour, of course, but before long Ryan was able to exhale. He wasn't going anywhere, not yet anyway. Motte was gone, and so was Jokinen. Ryan hadn't had much chance to get to know either of them. Vanek would be joining the team eventually, and Mark Letestu was coming back as well, but first was going to be Ian Cole. 

 

The Blue Jackets knew Ian Cole. He'd been on the winning side against them more often than anyone in that locker room wanted to think about. But he was a Jacket now, and in the NHL, loyalties changed with a single trade call. One moment you hated an opponent, and the next day he was sitting next to you in the locker room, fighting the same battles beside you.

 

Cole came into the locker room boisterously, offering handshakes and back pats, all broad smiles on his bearded face. He clapped a hand on Ryan's shoulder when he introduced himself. "Hey, it's good to be on the same side this time around, looking forward to playing with you."

 

He gave similarly affable introductions to Jack and then to Dubi as he made his way around the room. It seemed like a good trade overall.

 

Boone got to the room a little later and walked over to Cole, "Hey man, what's going on? Weird to be on the same team now, eh?"

 

Ian's back went stiff and he extended a cordial handshake. "Yeah, yeah. Good to meet you, Boone."

 

Well they'd definitely had their battles over the last few seasons; Blue Jackets and Penguins games were never friendly affairs, and Boone was more likely than most to do his best to get under the opposition's skin. Ryan didn't think much of it, not until a few moments later when Ian met Seth. No one hated Seth. He wasn't the same type of player Boone was, he didn't get in your face or try to knock you down. He just made your forwards or goalie look stupid sometimes. So when Seth was given the same impersonal introduction, Ryan had a pretty good feeling that it was more than rivalry that was making Cole so uncomfortable. 

 

Their next game was against the Capitals, and it had one hell of a start. By the end of the first period the Blue Jackets were already up 4-1 and the Caps were obviously getting frustrated. As the time ticked down to intermission a shoving match started, a huge pile-up at the Washington blue line. Orlov and Boone were shoving at each other, and Cole stepped in to keep Orlov back. 

 

"Alright, alright, fuckin' cool it off boys," Ryan stepped in front of Boone who was still muttering curses. 

 

"I should kick your fuckin' ass, Jenner," Orlov spat, trying to shove past Cole. "But I bet you'd fucking  _ love _ that, yeah? Just bend right fuckin' over and beg for it."

 

"You couldn't kick my ass, motherfucker," Boone surged forward and Ryan held him back. 

 

Orlov sneered and hacked his stick at Cole's ankles. "Gotta love being here with a bunch of fags after winning a Cup, eh bud? You bending over for it too?"

 

"Shut the fuck up, Orlov, don't be a dick." Ryan countered as Cole shoved him hard into the boards, sending him toppling to the ice.

 

"He's just calling a fag a fag," Ovechkin chimed in, gap-toothed grin broad and mean as he skated into the scrum. 

 

"I'll fucking kill you," Calvert jumped in from out of nowhere, throwing off his gloves as he yanked Ovi out of the pile of players. The scrum was quick and the officials pulled them apart before it could get out of hand, but Matty got a match penalty. 

 

It didn't go unnoticed by Ryan that Cole was far more pissed off at being associated with "fags" than anything else.

 

Boone and Ryan were the last ones down the hall toward the room, and Boone threw off his helmet, launched it into the wall outside of the room. "I'm so  _ goddamn sick _ of hearing this bullshit." 

 

Ryan grimaced and paused outside of the room to grab Boone's helmet from the ground. Not cracked, but the visor would need tightened up. He handed it off to Tim, the equipment guy, to fix it before the second period started. Torts would want to talk to them soon, but they had a couple of minutes first, and Boone was going to get himself thrown out of the game if he didn't calm down.

 

"Hey, Bam. I know, bud, it's bullshit. Homophobic assholes are all over this league," Ryan stopped his pacing, gripping his shoulders and forcing Boone to meet his eyes. "It doesn't fucking mean anything, okay? They're dicks, all of them. But we're beating them, and we can  _ keep _ beating them, and then we get the last laugh."

 

"What the fuck does it even  _ matter _ to anyone else? If I was gonna fuck a dude, do these motherfuckers think they can stop it saying this shit?" Boone was shaking his head in disgust, but his voice was higher than usual, bordering on hysterical. There were questions Ryan wanted to ask ( _ wait what's this about wanting to fuck a dude? _ ), but this wasn't the time to have that discussion. He needed to calm Boone down first. 

 

"You just said it, it doesn't fucking matter.  _ They _ don't fucking matter," Ryan gripped his biceps tighter. "Calvy just tried to beat up Ovi for you, yeah? Only the guys in this room matter, and we've got each others' backs. We're  _ all  _ here for you, and for Seth, and for anyone else, no matter who they wanna fuck, alright?" 

 

This wasn't the moment to point out that Ryan wasn't quite sure if Cole would be that supportive.

 

A few more deep breaths and Boone's anger level had dropped to a low simmer, though Ryan kept an eye on him throughout the intermission and the rest of the night. They managed to finish the game without any more battles. They finished it off with a 5-1 win; afterward the locker room was boisterous and celebratory, and the incident at the end of the first period was forgotten. 

 

Ryan noticed that Cole took an extra long time checking in with the trainers. And then he spent more time than anyone else with the media crowd. It wasn't until after Boone and Seth were back in the room, changing into suits, that Ian finally went off to the showers.


	10. Chapter 10

A west coast road trip after the trade deadline was always welcome; the roster for the rest of the season was set, and it was excellent bonding time with new teammates. Ian Cole continued to be amiable and outgoing with everyone who wasn't Boone or Seth, though Ryan had started to keep his distance. Even if Colesy didn't know the truth about him, Ryan wasn't ready to make nice.

 

Mark Letestu fit seamlessly back into the room; he already knew most of the team and was a familiar presence. He was unconcerned about the Vegas situation, though he made sure to chirp Seth about just  _ how much booze _ did it take to be willing to marry Boone's toothless ass. Even if Boone's teeth were fixed again, it was an easy joke to make; he'd lost the same exact teeth at least three times.

 

Traveling to California while it was still cold in Ohio was a nice break, and most of the team took advantage of the weather. Ryan was still trying to make an effort to be around with the guys more often, so he invited all the usual suspects out for lunch. Anderson was back in Columbus nursing an injury, but everyone else came along. They ate at a restaurant overlooking the ocean and then rented bikes to ride along the boardwalk. 

 

They were going to end up at a club by the end of the night, sure, but for the afternoon, it was good to just get outside. 

 

"About time we get Bam some sun, he's been blinding everyone in the room lately," Scotty chimed in as they returned their bikes.

 

"Oh fuck off, it's just barely March, everyone's pale right now," Boone shoved him.

 

"Not  _ everyone _ ," Seth added with a smirk. "Sexy ass dark skin all day over here. And Murr never gets as pale as you assholes."

 

After a few weeks of some awkwardness after Vegas, the Blue Jackets crew of single guys seemed to have settled back into old routines, old jokes. Torts had stopped breathing down their necks for the most part, so they were once again able to get away with a night out on the road from time to time.

 

They walked to a club a few blocks from their hotel. It was a casual evening--no one was attempting to pick up, everyone just wanted to shoot the breeze and knock back a few drinks. Los Angeles was a great place to go out; anonymity was king. Not that Ryan was recognized often outside of Columbus or occasionally western Canada, but especially since Vegas, sometimes Seth or Boone would get noticed. In Los Angeles, though, they were just another group of guys in a bar full of beautiful people, aspiring actors and comedians. 

 

Boone hovered near Ryan's side the whole night, only slipping away to use the restroom or order a fresh round of drinks. No one else seemed to notice it, nor the warmth up the back of Ryan's neck from the constant proximity.

 

"Okay, boys, we've got some big news tonight," Seth said once everyone was comfortably tipsy. Boone groaned next to him. "As of yesterday, the state of Nevada has officially granted our annulment. I'm no longer married to this gross asshole!" 

 

"You're just as gross as me, dick," Boone protested, but held his beer up to toast anyway. "Thank god I'm rid of you, Jonesy."

 

"He's more of a catch than you, Bam, sorry to say," Scotty shrugged and clinked his bottle to Ryan's. 

 

"Damn right I am," Seth nodded. 

 

Ryan knew by now that the wedding had meant nothing, of course. But he couldn't pretend there wasn't a part of him that was finally letting out a relieved exhale at knowing Boone was  _ officially _ no longer married to someone else.

 

"Congrats on the annulment, boys," he chimed in, hoping his voice only sounded weird to his own ears. "Hell, you  _ both _ deserve better."

 

Seth made a face and flipped him off, and Boone jammed an elbow into his side, but he didn't seem all that upset about it.

 

"So the new guys," Seth said little while later, when Ryan came back with another round of drinks, "I mean, you guys all know Letestu, he seems like a pretty good guy."

 

"Definitely, yeah, he's great," Boone nodded, taking a drink. 

 

"Verdict's still out on Vanek," Scotty chimed in. They'd only met him that afternoon as they stepped off the bus, there had only really been time for handshakes and introductions. "Colesy?"

 

"Colesy's kind of a dick, yeah?" Seth said without much hesitation.

 

"Yeah, kinda," Ryan agreed, just as Scotty said, "not at all, man."

 

Scott looked at both of them confused, his brow furrowed. "He's been hilarious, guys. How are you getting that he's a dick?"

 

"I mean, he's a little bit of a dick," Boone offered after a beat. "Mostly to me and Jonesy, but, yeah. I see it."

 

Ryan could see the wheels turning in Harrington's head, "Why the hell would he just be a dick to you guys?" 

 

Seth leveled his eyes on Scott, lips curled up wryly. "Just a shot in the dark but I'd guess it probably has something to do with the Vegas thing."

 

Realization dawned and Scotty started to nod. " _ Oh _ . Oh shit, seriously? What the hell would he care? It was a joke. What's he doing?"

 

"He's mostly just really standoffish with the two of us, but no one else. It's been pretty obvious, " Seth explained, rolling his eyes. 

 

"Really obvious," Ryan amended.

 

"Some people get real fucking weird about all that gay shit, you know?" Seth shrugged his shoulder. "Usually it's dudes who are assholes anyway, scared to death of anyone different."

 

Boone was quiet, swirling the last of the beer in his glass. "I've been getting used to dealing with that bullshit nowadays; he's not the only one around the league. If the worst of it is that he doesn't want to talk to me much, I can handle that."

 

"Well shit, okay then, Colesy's an asshole," Scotty agreed, clinking his glass to Seth's, nodding solemnly. 

 

Even without a strict curfew, they called it a night relatively early--Torts wasn't actively pissed off at them at the moment, but they all knew that could change with one bad decision. They walked back to their hotel, enjoying the warm California air. Boone was half a block ahead, listening to Scott tell a story about a particularly spectacular strikeout that Anderson had with a model the last time they were in LA.

 

"So you noticed Cole being weird too?" Seth asked as they walked. 

 

Ryan shrugged a shoulder, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "He wasn't doing a great job of hiding it, he was way nicer to everyone else and then he was just awkward as hell as soon as he met you two."

 

"I don't give a shit for the most part, but it gets to Bam," Seth shook his head. "He's a sensitive goddamn marshmallow, for all the hardass he is on the ice. Takes it all way too personally."

 

"It's not like he's gonna go feeling up fuckin' Colesy," Ryan muttered, rolling his eyes. "Even if he  _ was _ gay, I have to imagine he'd have better taste than that."

 

Seth smirked and elbowed Ryan in the side. " _ Obviously _ he has better taste than that. I'm the ex here." 

 

Ryan tried really hard to hide a grimace.

 

"You're totally right, though," Seth continued, breezing past Ryan's discomfort. "Colesy's not Bam's type at  _ all _ ."

 

Ryan snorted, "You were never his roommate, I got to meet the smokeshows he brings home."

 

"Brought."

 

"What?"

 

"Brought," Seth repeated. "Boone hasn't picked up in months, hasn't even really tried. He mostly just laughs at Scotty and Andy's mishaps. They're only successful about half the time, and their strikeouts are classic."

 

"Why the hell isn't he picking up? He's never even had to  _ try _ ," Ryan didn't want to sound too curious. But he was. Really, really curious. "Was it weird after the Vegas shit?" Boone was famous enough in Columbus for the women there to know the story.

 

"Nah, it started way before Vegas. Hell, I don't think he's really picked up at all this whole season." Seth shrugged a shoulder, "Hung up on somebody, pretty sure. He's not saying shit about it, but that's what me and Wenny figure it's gotta be."

 

Huh.

 

"Well I'm sure he'll be back to the old Boone before you guys know it," Ryan kept his voice light, forced a laugh. "Just waiting for some dime in Short North, probably."

 

"How the fuck do you walk so slow, Jonesy? You're fuckin' 6'4." Boone was holding the door open for them while Scotty queued up an elevator. 

 

Seth rolled his eyes and shoved Boone inside. They loaded onto the elevator and once they got off at the team's floor, Seth and Scotty reached their doors first; Boone and Ryan were toward the end of the hall. 

 

"Wanna hang out a little? I'm not tired yet," Boone asked while Ryan fished out his room key.

 

"Sure, we can see just how bad the hotel TV is here." Ryan shrugged his jacket off and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. "There's probably some ridiculous Ice Road Truckers marathon or something."

 

"You bitch about that stuff, but you  _ always _ leave it on," Boone shrugged his shirt off, leaving him in just a white undershirt. 

 

Ryan dug in his suitcase for pajama pants, and found an extra pair of sweats, which he tossed at Boone. "Well it's either that, infomercials or CNN. It's the best option most of the time."

 

Ryan made sure he  _ did not look _ while Boone stripped out of his jeans and stepped into Ryan's sweats. Just the thought of it, of Boone wearing his clothes, was enough to send a flush up the back of his neck. Boone settled on one side of the king-sized bed, legs crossed at the ankle, and started to flip through the stations. Ryan changed as quickly and modestly as possible without seeming awkward--they shared a locker room every day, they'd seen each other at every level of clothed from full gear to bare-assed naked--so he had to just pretend like this was normal. 

 

"Okay, so there's no Ice Road Truckers tonight, but there's Chopped on Food Network, so I think that's the winner." Boone finally settled on it after cycling through a few times. 

 

They were halfway through watching a contestant thoroughly fuck up a batch of ice cream before Ryan spoke up. "Hey, I'm sorry Colesy's been weird. You shouldn't have to deal with that shit in your own locker room."

 

"Probably better to know that, eh?" he shrugged a shoulder. "Even some of the guys that were assholes at first; now that the novelty has worn off, everybody else seems pretty cool with everything. If he can't even handle a stupid ass fake marriage, chances are he's not worth getting all that close to."

 

Ryan was quiet for a long time; the judges were picking a winner when he finally talked again. "Kind of hard to imagine what it would be like for someone who actually came out, you know? I mean, there are definitely gay dudes in the league, right? So some guy's out there and he sees all this shit you're putting up with...fuck, it'd shove him straight back in the closet."

 

Boone took a long breath and gave a weak smile, "That's the worst fucking part of it, you know? We try to pride ourselves on inclusion and shit, we make this big deal about it, use the rainbow tape and all that. But then you've got fans saying racist shit, and opposing players are calling me a fag…" he shook his head, his gaze turned down. "Like it'd be good to have someone who had the balls to come out, but it would be so fucking hard. I didn't even come out, I just got drunk and married fuckin' Jonesy, and I'm the brunt of all this crap. So actually  _ coming out _ ?  Even in the  _ room _ it would be hard, with shitheads like Cole out there."

 

Ryan nodded slowly and tried not to look too crestfallen. "I guess you'd just have to hope that the good guys around would make up for the assholes. Hard to imagine it, though."

 

Another episode of Chopped started and they both went quiet. Before the first contestant was eliminated, Boone had dozed off. Ryan shifted the blankets up around him and made sure his neck wasn't bent awkwardly. Boone woke for a short moment, eyes glassy, a drowsy smile curving his lips. He moved to lay on his side, facing Ryan, and was quickly asleep again.

 

Sharing a bed with Boone was getting to be a habit. Ryan wasn't sure if it was the best or the worst possible situation.

____

 

Ryan always woke up before his alarm on west coast trips. It took a couple of days for 7:30 in the morning to stop feeling like 10:30. The barest slice of light was beaming between the curtains and he squinted his eyes against it, turning his head away--only to get a face full of sleep-sweaty hair. He grunted with dismay and let out a softly muttered  _ fuck _ . 

 

He couldn't move. 

 

Boone had shifted while he slept and was now sprawled on his stomach, with one arm thrown over Ryan's midsection, his face buried against Ryan's armpit. He was snoring softly, fully passed out and a dead weight on Ryan's arm, leaving his fingertips numb, tingling to life when he flexed his fist.

 

"Boone," Ryan spoke softly, trying to tug his arm free. He nudged his hip against Boone's in a further attempt to wake him. 

 

"Mmmrfmm," Boone grunted and shifted his weight, but instead of moving away, he moved closer. He curled on his side toward Ryan, his arm still latched over Ryan's torso. He kept snoring, breath huffing out in even bursts, hot against Ryan's neck. He was pathetic; even Boone's morning breath wasn't enough to turn him off.

 

He flexed and stretched his fingers until the numbness dissipated to sparks of pain traveling over his hands, then dropped his arm around Boone's shoulders. The light in the room was soft and golden and Ryan was only half-awake, lingering grogginess convincing him that this was fine. Not a big deal.

 

When they were living together, Boone had fallen asleep next to him plenty of times. Sometimes he ended up with his head on Ryan's shoulder. There were a few times when Ryan dozed off while using Boone's thigh as a pillow. Especially in the hell year, when they were both home far too often, moments like that were all too common, never once awkward.

 

Somewhere far off, it occurred to him that he should probably wake Boone, or at least attempt to extricate himself. But the room was cool with air conditioning and beside him Boone was warm and cozy. Instead of worrying what he  _ should  _ do, he closed his eyes and let sleepiness pull him under. 

 

It felt like only a few minutes before the alarm was blaring, but Ryan knew it had to have been at least an hour. Boone was still curled against his side and he fisted a hand in Ryan's shirt, grunting at the insistent beeping.

 

Ryan blindly reached for his phone, swiping to shut off the alarm before dropping it on the bed next to him. Boone yawned largely but hadn't moved yet, though he smoothed his hand over Ryan's shirt where he'd wrinkled it, the touch warm and comforting. Something Ryan could get used to.

 

He tilted his head up to smile at Ryan, a soft, drowsy curl to one side of his mouth, his lids heavy, eyes deep and blue behind his lashes; the intimacy of it made something drop in Ryan's gut, and for just a stutter of one heartbeat, he wondered what would happen if he leaned down and kissed that sleepy-sweet smile off of Boone's face. They were mere inches apart--he could feel Boone's breath on his neck, his hand was still smoothing the fabric of Ryan's shirt--just one dip forward and it could be that quick, that easy...

 

Boone sat up finally, scratching along the stubble at his jaw, jarring Ryan out of whatever half-sleeping haze had made him think that could ever be a good idea. "Mm, hey, sorry," Boone's voice came out in a croak as he stretched his arms up over his head. "Was kinda smushing you."

 

The sudden loss of Boone's body heat left Ryan chilled. "No, hey, it's okay. Not crushing me at all. Fingers are just a little numb." He also had a pretty embarrassing case of morning wood, but he didn't think that was information he needed to volunteer. 

 

"Fuck, when's breakfast again?"

 

"Nine."

 

"Not enough time to hit snooze, eh?"

 

"Not if you're planning to shower before we go down." Ryan sat up in bed, swinging his legs to put his feet on the ground. At this angle, Boone wouldn't be able to see anything. 

 

Boone grunted as he pushed to stand, "Okay, yeah, I gotta do that. Where the fuck's all my stuff?" The question was rhetorical, spoken as he was picking his jeans off the chair where he'd tossed them the night before. He dug his key out from the pocket of his pants and stepped into his shoes. He didn't bother putting his jeans or shirt back on, and he left his hair sticking up in the back.  "Ready in a half hour? We'll walk down together."

 

Ryan adjusted himself enough to be sure his...predicament wasn't obvious and turned to face him. Boone was still wearing Ryan's sweats, hung low on his hips, and Ryan was trying very hard not to notice how Boone was having the exact same morning wood problem."Yeah, definitely," Ryan kept his eyes up above the waist. Well above the waist. He was staring at Boone's eyebrows. "Just gotta shower and brush my teeth first."

 

Boone nodded once and gave a half-assed wave as he padded from Ryan's room, yawning the whole way.

 

Ryan turned the water as hot as it would go in the shower, leaning into the spray, letting the steam fill the room while he reached down to squeeze the swell of his cock. He didn't have a lot of time, but there was one more thing Ryan had to handle before he could go down for breakfast, and the image of a sleepy-eyed Boone, hard in sweats that had Ryan's number 27 emblazoned on the hip, was most certainly going to make that task easier.


	11. Chapter 11

The California trip started poorly with two losses, but it ended on a high note when they snagged a win in San Jose. Flying back to Columbus without a loss hanging over their heads made for an easy trip. The flight was a redeye and they wouldn't arrive until the early hours of the morning; the plane was quiet--a rare event--and the lights were dimmed to a minimum.

 

The older guys took the time to sleep, some of the younger players were reading, a few more were watching movies on their phones or iPads, earbuds in. Late flights meant everyone mostly kept to themselves. 

 

Ryan was trying to finish the chapter he'd started, but it was late and he felt himself fading. He was getting ready to close the Kindle app and call it a night, but just at that moment Boone slumped in the seat next to him. 

 

"Can't sleep," he explained, voice soft so he didn't disrupt anyone else.

 

"Well I can't promise I'll be much help," Ryan tugged the travel pillow from his carry-on. "I was dozing off reading those last couple of pages."

 

Boone frowned. "Oh shit, sorry buddy, I'll let you get to it."

 

Ryan held one hand out and squeezed Boone's forearm before he could move, "Hold on, if you can't sleep…" he queued up his sleep playlist on Spotify. "Get your earbuds, maybe that playlist'll help."

 

"Well don't you wanna listen to it? I shouldn't keep you awake just because I am."

 

Ryan paused and handed Boone his left earbud and tucked the right one into his own ear and then started the playlist. "Problem solved, eh?"

 

Boone grinned and settled in, leaning heavily on the armrest between them. "You're the best, Murr."

 

They sat like that for several songs, arms pressed together. Ryan was starting to nod off and Boone had put his head down on Ryan's shoulder; he was now leaning his weight heavily against Ryan's side. As he was starting to drift off, Ryan noticed Ian Cole walk down the aisle of the plane, pausing to pull something out of his carry-on, stowed above Ryan and Boone's heads. He glanced their way, not quite managing to hide an eye roll when he realized how they were sitting.

 

Ryan cocked one eyebrow and nudged Boone. "Hey, move a minute…" he shifted in his seat, pushed the armrest up and out of the way and wrapped an arm around Boone's shoulders, bracing him as Boone fell easily back to sleep. 

 

Cole slammed the overhead bin harder than necessary and went back to his seat.

 

Boone slept just like that, bracketed under Ryan's arm, and Ryan followed soon after. A couple of hours later, he woke to someone ruffling his hair.

 

"Hey boys, we're about to land. You're gonna want to get your stuff ready," Wenny said, while eyeing the two of them. Seth was next to him and had a faint, smug grin on his face. He didn't even bother to look away when Ryan caught his eye.

 

Boone grumbled next to him and yawned against his neck. "Man, that playlist did the fuckin' trick, Murrs." 

 

Seth kept watching them, then added, in his most deadpan voice. "Yeah Bam, it was definitely the playlist."

 

The two of them stood on the elevator once they got home to their apartment building. The sky was dark but getting lighter, nearly dawn. The couple of hours of sleep on the plane didn't put a dent in how tired Ryan was, and they had the next day off, so he intended to sleep until noon.

 

He stabbed the 2 button for his own apartment once they were on the elevator, and Boone hesitated next to him, finger hovering over the 4 for his own floor.

 

"Just come hang out at mine," Ryan said after a long moment, making the decision for him.

 

Boone shoved his hand back into his pocket and gave that same sleepy-soft smile from the morning at the hotel, the smile that made his gut twist.

 

Ryan was pretty sure it was gonna be the death of him.

____

 

Their next game was against the Golden Knights, and Tortorella made it clear that they would  _ not _ be entertaining any questions about what had happened in Las Vegas. They were in the hunt for the playoffs and drunken antics were irrelevant to their place in the standings.

 

There was an article in The Athletic that rehashed everything, but none of the media types dared ask anything of Torts or the players. It was the elephant in the room, but the team was going to do its part to just pretend there was no tension hanging overhead.

 

This game against the Golden Knights went much better, a comfortable 4-1 win. After the rough stretch of losses, it felt good to get two in a row. The mood in the locker room was light for what felt like the first time in weeks. 

 

After the game, Ryan showered and dressed, then headed down the hallway that connected the home and visitors' locker rooms. They hadn't had time for dinner, but he wanted to see William Karlsson before he left.

 

"Wait,  _ still? _ " he heard Wild Bill ask as he headed toward them. Seth and Alex were already dressed--Wenny was somehow always the best dressed and yet always ready faster than anyone else--and chatting him up.

 

"It's so fucking obvious it's  _ painful _ ," Alex was shaking his head and chuckling at some inside joke. That the Swedes had their own gossip wasn't unusual.

 

Jonesy just usually wasn't involved. 

 

"They're fucking idiots, you know?" He had a hand slapped to his forehead. "It's like pulling teeth around here."

 

William started to say something else, but was interrupted when Alex noticed Ryan heading down the hall. "Murrs! Get over here!"

 

"Hey guys, what's going on?" he shook Will's hand and pulled him in for a half-hug. "Thanks for not embarrassing us this time, Bill."

 

"I didn't want anyone to hate me, yeah?" 

 

"We all hate you plenty for sending out snapchats playing that god awful Green Day song all the time," Ryan grinned. He expected them to go back to whatever conversation they'd been having when he walked over, but instead it turned to chirping about girlfriends-- _ how many times are you gonna show up on your girl's Insta shirtless, Bill? Oh I dunno, are you even allowed to look at her stories? Your girlfriend might ground you-- _ and whatever they'd been joking about was lost.

____

 

After the Vegas game, the Jackets had an extended stretch at home. There was one game in Philly, but otherwise they would be in their own building for over a week. The team was settling back into a rhythm, back into good habits, and they started winning again. 

 

Ryan went out with the guys again, and once more at the end of the night it was down to just him and Boone. Seth had started dating a girl from OSU, Andy was nursing an injury and hadn't been going out as much, Wenny left early every time, and Scotty had one hell of a pickup hot streak going on. So once again the evening wrapped up with Ryan following Boone into the back of their Uber driver's car.

 

Boone was alternating nights in his own apartment with nights spent at Ryan's. Once he passed out on Ryan's couch. Twice he slept in the guest room. And there was the night he was sprawled out on Ryan's side of the bed when Ryan came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth. 

 

_ But I like the right side of the bed! _

 

_ If you want the right side of the bed, you're gonna have to go sleep in your own apartment. _

 

Boone had huffed dramatically and moved over.

 

Ryan was still struggling to hit his stride after returning from injury, but Boone was having a resurgence. The team was doing well, and he was a large part of why. They beat Montreal to get their fifth win in a row, solidly back in the race for a playoff spot.

 

Late that night, he and Boone sat on his couch, each two beers deep; Ryan was strumming idly on his guitar while Boone played Fortnite. Boone was wearing the sweats that Ryan had "loaned" him in California. Good luck charm, he'd said.

 

"Why did we ever get our own places?" Ryan had been thinking it a lot lately, but he hadn't necessarily meant to ask the question aloud. No going back, though. "I mean, you've been hanging out here more than your own place lately."

 

Boone didn't take his eyes off the TV, still tapping at the controller in his hand. "You hated when I brought hookups home."

 

Ryan grimaced. "I mean, it wasn't that big a deal...it was just awkward sometimes."

 

"Bullshit," Boone argued distractedly. "Anytime I had a girl over, you'd barely talk to me the next morning."

 

Ryan wanted to protest, but there wasn't much point. He always  _ did _ shut down after Boone hooked up. Sometimes Boone had a hickey on his neck, sometimes he still smelled like perfume from the lucky girl the night before. Ryan absolutely hated it, and he was a terrible actor, so any attempts to disguise it were likely unconvincing. "You know how weird I am about...everything, really," Ryan finally said, self-deprecating. "I never knew what to say. Like what, do I ask how it went or something? That would just make it worse."

 

Boone snorted, but kept his gaze focused on the television. "You gave me the same cold shoulder when you found out I married Jonesy."

 

Ryan's breath caught in his throat. "Well that was just…uhm. That was shock. I woke up to like forty notifications all telling me the same thing, and then Torts is sending pissed off texts to the whole team, the whole thing just...freaked me out a little."

 

Boone shrugged one shoulder weakly. "I was pretty freaked out that morning myself."

 

Ryan watched Boone's game progress for a few long moments. "You're better than that," he said finally. "Better than just random hookups and accidental drunk weddings. Hell, even the Elvis impersonator at that place was crap."

 

"It was a weird fucking year, you know?" Boone finally closed out of the game and dropped his controller on the coffee table.He still wasn't looking at Ryan. "I'm living alone for the first time, and I hate it, you know? And then I'm thinking I'm a huge fucking baby because I can't be on my own. My apartment's too quiet, and I think too much. So going out is better. Bars are loud, yeah? It's fun to watch the boys try to pick up, and it's especially hilarious when they fail. And then by the time I get home I'm exhausted, so then I can sleep."

 

He sat up and raked a hand through his hair. "But then I'm tired when I get to the rink, and my legs feel like I'm skating on Florida ice. And after a while, hooking up isn't all that great? I mean sex is good, always. Everyone likes to get laid. But it's just fucking for the sake of fucking, and it starts to feel stupid after a while."

 

"You could get a girlfriend, you know?" Ryan suggested, even if every last part of him was screaming at him to shut the fuck up. 

 

Boone shrugged noncommittally. "You can't just go out looking for a girlfriend. It's gotta be someone you like, someone you trust. I can't go find that shit with some girl out at a bar."

 

_ Hung up on somebody _ . 

 

Seth's words came back to Ryan. Shit, Boone really might have a crush on someone. That's why he wasn't out looking for a girlfriend. But then, if Boone hadn't picked up in months, who could he be hung up on? A tiny bloom of hope unfurled deep in Ryan's gut, but he ignored it. There was no fucking way.

 

"I mean, if you're not wanting to go pick up, but you don't wanna hang out at home by yourself, you're welcome to hang out down here whenever you want to," Ryan offered. "I'm not that exciting, but I'll play my guitar a bunch so it's not too quiet."

 

Boone finally glanced over at Ryan, his eyes clouded with something Ryan couldn't pinpoint. But he was smiling. "You've gotta learn something other than Bob Dylan."

 

Ryan rolled his eyes and laughed. "Beggars can't be choosers, Bam."


	12. Chapter 12

Ryan had been scratched before. Hell, he'd spend a quarter of his NHL career injured, being scratched was just a part of life.

  
But he was most certainly not accustomed to being a _healthy_ scratch. So when he got that bit of news his reaction might have been, well, less than ideal.

 

He didn't even bother to hide his irritation; Torts knew he was pissed off and cornered him on the ice at the end of practice. Some bullshit about watching from above, about needing a killer instinct or some other cliche from 1990s hockey about battling through pain. Ryan was too busy trying to not to say anything that would get him sent down to Cleveland to actually pick up on much of what Tortorella was telling him.

 

He threw his gloves into his stall once he was in the room again, then tossed his helmet in after. Zach watched him warily and kept his distance; Jack gave a sympathetic smile and turned away. Savy patted his shoulder and mumbled something about "fuck that guy, you'll be back in next game."

 

Very pointedly, Colesy didn't even bother to look at him, let alone speak to him or offer support. Ever since the moment on the plane at the end of the California trip, Cole had spoken to him only when necessary, and it was laced with barely contained disgust. He was getting the same treatment as Boone and Seth--maybe even worse.

 

Ian Cole being a homophobic asshole, however, was the least of Ryan's worries at the moment. He showered fast and dressed quicker, wanting as much distance as possible between himself and the ice, the rink, and fucking Tortorella. He was standing in the parking lot, muttering obscenities to himself while searching for his car that it dawned on him--Boone drove them practice that morning.

 

Son of a bitch.

 

Ryan thought about going inside again, but after storming out the way he did, it felt like an even worse idea to go back than just wait outside awkwardly for a while.

 

"What the fuck happened in there?" Boone called as he strolled over to Ryan what was probably only ten minutes later, but had felt like an eternity. He had a beanie pulled down over his ears, and he was nearly jogging out to meet him. "You were gone before I even got out of the damn showers."

 

"It's just...it's fucking bullshit and I wanted to go home," Ryan climbed into the truck once Boone unlocked it. "Torts is gonna healthy scratch me in Philly and it's fucking _horseshit_."

 

Boone didn't say anything, just started the car and pulled from the lot. Ryan rehashed the argument with Tortorella, at least as much as he could recall, and Boone just listened while he ranted. The drive from the rink to their apartment building was short, but Ryan kept up his righteous indignation the whole way there, through the parking garage, and up the elevator. "And fucking Cole is gonna go out there and get _my_ fucking ice time, because Torts thinks he's fucking awesome. Fucking _figures_ , fucking homophobes sticking together."

 

Boone followed him off the elevator and down to his door. "He's just playing mind games with you, you know that's how he works. He's just trying to get in your head, that's all. You know how good you are."

 

Ryan shoved his door open and went straight for the fridge and grabbed out two bottles of beer, popping the caps off and handing one off to Boone. "I don't even fucking know that anymore. Jonesy's the number one, yeah? And Zach's right there behind him, we all fucking know that. And Savy is Torts' boy right? And fuck, Jack's the vet."

 

Boone set his beer down and tried to interrupt, "Ryan, no, that's not--"

 

Ryan took a long drink and launched right back into it, cutting him off mid-sentence. "So they've all got their roles, yeah? The best I've got is they trust me for late in games, hey, I can shut teams down, that's great. So we go fuckin' get Cole, and that motherfucker does all that shit _and_ he's willing to throw the body. Meanwhile, I throw a check and I'm probably gonna break a rib or a hip or some other bullshit injury and then Torts is gonna be all too fucking happy to throw me back on IR, because then he doesn't have to deal with it because I'm too fuckin' soft, yeah?"

 

"You're not _soft_ , it's bad luck shit--"

 

By now Ryan was fully incensed, pacing between his kitchen and living room, gesturing with his bottle. "That's how this fucking shit is gonna go down. I'm gonna sit in the fucking press box and that'll just cement my label as 'bust' and lemme tell you I can't fucking wait for all of those articles all fucking summer."

 

"Look it's a fucked way to motivate but that's _all it is--_ "

 

"You're all gonna probably destroy teams in the playoffs and I'm gonna be watching from upstairs, and they're probably gonna fucking unload me at the draft anyway, and if not then, it's gonna happen over the summer."

 

Boone finally grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall, nearly knocking over a framed Everett jersey in the process. " _Ryan_." His fingers were tight around Ryan's biceps and he was staring intently into Ryan's eyes. "Calm the fuck down and just shut up a minute, Christ."

 

"You don't _get_ it, you don't hear the shit I do," Ryan protested, shaking his head vehemently. "I fucking know everyone's ready to give up on me, a fucking wasted second overall. Zach and Jonesy and fucking Ian Cole are gonna get all my fucking ice time and they're gonna just get rid of mmmphh--"

 

Boone's lips were chapped and his beard was scratchy and the kiss was too hard and Ryan's head bumped painfully against the wall from it, but in that moment not a single one of those things mattered because holy fuck _Boone was kissing him_.

 

Boone snaked one arm around Ryan's back and he threaded the other hand through Ryan's hair. His teeth scraped over Ryan's lower lip and his tongue darted over the same spot a breath later. Boone kissed him once more, then again, and _finally_ the shock wore off and Ryan went boneless against him. He hauled Boone closer and angled their bodies together, tilted his head to meet him halfway.

 

Boone groaned into his mouth, something urgent and insistent, and he leaned his full weight to press Ryan to the wall. Ryan was moaning too--he thought he was, anyway, his head was swimming--and just trying to keep up with him. Boone slid his tongue against the seam of his mouth and then inside. He tasted like beer and a little like blue Gatorade.

 

Boone moved both hands down to Ryan's waist and pulled him away from the wall, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, their hips pressed insistently together, and Ryan knew he was hard, knew that Boone would be able to tell, but Boone didn't seem too concerned; he didn't break the kiss for even a breath as he guided them down the hall toward Ryan's room, just ground against Ryan as they stumbled blindly over each other's feet. Ryan scrabbled one hand along Boone's scalp, pushing his knit cap off and letting it drop. His heart was pounding in his chest, in his throat, in his ears. At the moment hockey and healthy scratches and piece of shit Torts seemed like they were a world away, because _he was kissing Boone_ and this was probably the worst idea he'd ever had but he couldn't get his brain to come online enough to remind him _why_.

 

Boone ducked his head as he walked Ryan backward into his room, dipped down to open his mouth wide over Ryan's throat and _sucked_ ; the noise Ryan made echoed in the quiet room just as the back of his thighs hit mattress and he toppled backward. Boone followed after, shifting his weight to get his knees on either side of Ryan's hips. Boone was heavy on top of him, drawing in huge, harsh breaths against Ryan's neck while his teeth scraped hot lines along Ryan's skin, down and down, lower on his collarbone, until his shirt got in the way. Boone grunted something that wasn't really a word and shoved the offending fabric up and off, yanking it over Ryan's head before leaning in close to capture Ryan's mouth again, needy and insistent, teeth sinking hard into Ryan's lower lip.

 

Boone's hands were everywhere, palms rough and calloused on his chest and the ticklish skin of his sides. He settled into Ryan's lap, grinding himself down against Ryan's groin, and Ryan darted his tongue into Boone's mouth each time he gasped for air. Ryan wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him closer.  He rocked his hips up in stuttered, frenzied circles, seeking out more friction by pressing up against Boone's ass, and _fuck_ , any reservations he might've had evaporated.

 

Ryan scratched down Boone's back and yanked at the fabric of his shirt to pull it off, desperate to get his hands on _skin_ , wanting to know if it would feel as good as he'd always imagined. Boone's shirt got tangled up as he pulled it higher, and he muttered nonsense into Boone's mouth as he ripped it free, tossing it carelessly away. Boone's skin was hot, already a little damp from exertion. He was late-season soft, all the angles of toned muscle from camp smoothed down. Ryan wanted to explore every last inch.

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind was still that quiet voice telling him that this was a stupid idea, but Boone was heavy in his lap, panting into his mouth, and there was just _skin_ everywhere and Ryan wanted to memorize it all, conscience be damned.

 

He had his hands all over Boone's back first, then moved to learning how the muscles in his shoulders felt as he arched and flexed, while Boone tugged at the button and zipper of Ryan's pants.  Ryan let himself rub over Boone's chest, testing how he reacted to having his nipples touched. All the while, Boone was rolling his hips, slow and methodical, grounding down against Ryan's cock, dragging low growls from his throat, and then Ryan was touching his waist, the trail of hair below his navel, tugging Boone's pants unbuttoned, then unzipped.

 

Ryan barely registered the sound of a drawer opening and some shuffling inside; Boone went still, then he pulled back from the kiss completely, turning to look over his shoulder, and Ryan leaned up to meet him, mouthing wet kisses along his collarbone.

 

"...a fuckin' condom?" Boone was muttering, mostly to himself, a question that Ryan only caught the end of. Boone didn't repeat it, was just panting harshly, while he dug one handed through the drawer of Ryan's bedside table.

 

Shit. Ryan knew he was out of them, had been meaning to pick up a box. He swallowed hard and stretched out beneath Boone, watching his body move while he dug around in the drawer. Ryan knew he was gaping, dragging in deep breaths with his jaw dropped open, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care how dumb he looked, not with Boone straddling him.

 

Boone asked the question again, and Ryan's brain caught up, so he mumbled something vague that might have come across as a 'no' if his mouth was working properly. Boone turned back to him at the noise, taking in Ryan's dazed expression; his own eyes went wide, and his hips that had been rolling slow circles down against Ryan's lap went completely still.

 

" _Fuck."_

 

Boone slammed the drawer shut and jumped back like he'd been stung, stumbling off of the bed, his gaze suddenly clear. "Shit," he muttered, stepping out of Ryan's reach. "Shit, motherfuck, shit…" His pants were unbuckled, hung low on his hips, his dick blatant beneath the fabric of his boxers. It was the hottest fucking thing Ryan had ever seen.

 

But then Ryan caught a glimpse of his face and realized that he also looked _fucking terrified_.

 

Ryan still had one hand extended, grasping at air now. He let it drop awkwardly. "What?" he asked pathetically, because it was the only word he could get his mouth to work enough to say. His voice came out breathless and raw, and he hated how desperate it sounded.

 

"Shit, I've gotta go," Boone tucked himself carefully into his pants, zipped and buttoned them. He took a huff of breath and let it out, raked both hands through his hair to smooth it down, even though it sprung back up immediately. "I shouldn't have...you were fucking upset. Shit, you fuckin' _trusted_ me and I fucking did... _shit_."

 

"No, wait." Ryan wasn't even positive what part of everything Boone was freaking out about. The kiss? Not having a condom? That Ryan was a _man_? "It's not...a thing, it's...nothing just--" He was incoherent, babbling; without knowing exactly what had Boone so spooked, Ryan didn't know how to calm him.

 

Boone yanked his shirt on over his head and buckled his belt. "Christ, I'm such an asshole," he muttered as he stormed from the room, pausing to grab his hat from the floor in the hallway, shaking his head as he walked. "Fuck, I'm sorry, that was...that shouldn't happen, I'm fucking sorry…"

 

Ryan's brain finally started to work again, and he jumped up to follow him back down the hallway but couldn't keep up while trying to tug his pants back up and get them fastened without catching his dick in the zipper. " _Wait_ , what's wrong?"

 

"I'm just fuckin' ruining things again," Boone grimaced largely and took the beer Ryan had given him when they'd walked in and pulled the door open. He glanced over his shoulder once more before he left. "I'm so fucking sorry, okay? I'm just...such a fuck up…" He trailed off and closed the door and Ryan was left standing alone, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Boone drove himself to the airport the next morning. For weeks now, Ryan and Boone had carpooled to the rink together most days. They were going to the same place, at the same time; it just made sense to go that way. Not that Ryan hadn't expected it to change after what happened, but it still stung.

 

Boone managed to wedge himself in toward the back of the plane with Seth and Scotty, practically as far away as he could get from Ryan. They locked eyes once, but Ryan looked away immediately, too afraid of what he might find there.

 

Boone had  _ seemed _ like he was into everything the day before. But then he'd also completely freaked out as soon as he realized what was going on, so Ryan just assumed that it was a misunderstanding. He was just trying to make Ryan feel better and it got carried away. And now that he had a clear head and was able to think about everything, he'd remembered that he was most certainly not interested in Ryan and the whole thing was a huge mistake.

 

It didn't help to realize that Ryan had all but come out to Boone. They had been well on their way to naked, Ryan  _ knew _ Boone had to have felt how hard he was. Boone would have put it all together; Boone had to know he was gay. It was little comfort to know that, if nothing else, Boone would never tell his secret. Ryan knew without a doubt that after what he'd been through in the months since Vegas, Boone would never out him to anyone.

  
Boone might never spend time with him alone again, but at least Ryan knew he would remain safely in the closet.

 

It was easy enough to avoid Boone--who appeared to be avoiding him the same--he wondered if it would take more ducking to get away from Torts. Ryan realized that arguing with his head coach the day before had most certainly not been the smartest thing he'd ever done. But then, it wasn't even the dumbest thing he'd managed to accomplish in the same 24 hour period. Torts didn't appear to be searching him out to rehash the discussion anyway, so Ryan settled in his seat and turned his headphones up loud to drown out the rest of the team.

 

Half an hour into their flight, Wenny flopped down in the seat next to Ryan, startling him into nearly dropping the book he was reading. "What's going on, Murr?"

 

"Shit, Wenny, announce yourself. Damn sneaky Swedes," Ryan closed up the book and paused his music. "I guess things are fine, why?"

 

"Just trying to figure why you and Bam are being weird as hell," leave it to Alex to not even bother with tact. 

 

Ryan had been in the middle of taking a drink of coffee when he asked and he nearly choked on it. "What?" he asked, voice too high. "We're fine, nothing's going on." 

 

"Right, right," he nodded slowly, patronizing. "So you two have been hanging out together for weeks and now suddenly you won't even look at him? For no reason at all? Got it."

 

Ryan felt his ears go hot and he wished he was wearing full headphones instead of just tiny earbuds. "We're not attached at the hip, we can sit separately on the plane. Not a big deal."

 

Wenny was still unconvinced. "Right, right. Changing seats on the plane in the middle of the season is totally normal. Got it." He rolled his eyes but continued before Ryan could defend himself. "Anyway, we're planning to grab dinner once we touch down in Philly, and you two need to be getting along for it."

 

Ryan stifled a sigh and faked a grin. "Yeah, of course, we're great. Just let me know where we're going."

 

Alex clapped him on the back and trotted back down the aisle. Ryan tried to go back to his book, but he was antsy, on edge. He had planned to just stay in his room tonight and order something from Grubhub. After all of his mistakes the day before, he figured it was a good idea to isolate himself before he could screw up anything else.

 

And yet he didn't want to give any indication that anything was wrong, not given how nosy his teammates were. So once the team was checked into the hotel, Ryan dutifully rode the elevator down to the lobby with Wenny to meet up with the rest of the crew. Seth was already down there waiting, Boone as well, and Scotty stepped into the lobby right afterward. 

 

"The whole gang is here, good deal. I'm fuckin' starving," Scotty led them out and down the street, and Ryan mostly tried to keep up with him. Boone was hanging back with Seth. 

 

It was a Wednesday night, so they didn't wait long for a table. Scotty and Seth sat across from each other at one end, and Wenny took the opposite. Boone sat next to Seth, which left Ryan with the dilemma of whether to sit next to him (too close) or across from him (avoiding his eyes all night).

 

He paused a moment too long and Seth noticed. "You planning to just stand to eat? Sit the fuck down, Murr."

 

Next to Boone was closer, so he chose that to take the attention off. This was going to be awkward no matter where he sat. He busied himself browsing the menu, listening to the other guys chirp each other, and trying to resist the urge to glance over at Boone. 

 

He ordered a glass of wine and was most certainly drinking it too fast, but it kept his hands and mouth occupied. When the waiter brought a basket of bread for the table, he went for it first, bumping against Boone as he reached for it. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling his entire face flush.

 

"No, no, sorry, my fault," Boone responded quickly, leaning back and out of the way. 

 

Seth noticed, but he said nothing, just watched them with a raised eyebrow. He started in on a story about something that happened once during a game with the Flyers back when he was in Nashville, and Ryan was grateful for the distraction.

 

Ryan didn't even taste his food, was halfway through the bowl of pasta before realizing they hadn't brought what he ordered. It wasn't worth complaining now, and he didn't want to hold up the works any longer. He wanted to get back to his room and away from this restaurant where Boone was sitting too close, where their arms grazed every few minutes, where he could smell Boone's cologne when the fan above them spun.

 

They played credit card roulette for the check and he groaned when he saw the waiter pull his from the pile. "I should've ordered another couple of drinks!" Seth chuckled as he handed off the rest of the cards. 

 

"Thanks for the meal, Murr, you're the best," Wenny leaned over the table to squeeze his shoulder, ever-present smirk on his lips. 

 

He grimaced at the total but added the appropriate 20% tip anyway, then scribbled out something that passed, barely, for his signature. "Yeah, yeah, it's gonna be somebody else's turn soon."

 

They walked back to the hotel, only a couple of blocks, and Scotty was catching up Alex on a girl Josh had hooked up with in Columbus, only to find out she was married. Seth was walking behind them, leaving Ryan to pull up the rear. Boone was a step ahead, and Ryan was keeping his stride slow to keep it that way. They'd managed to barely look at each other for all of dinner, now Ryan just had to get back to his room. He could handle a few more minutes.

 

Scott was still telling his story, gesturing largely, as they climbed on the elevator, and it pushed Ryan and Boone against the same wall while they tried to avoid getting beaned in the head while he flailed. Boone smiled sheepishly when he stepped back onto Ryan's toe. "Idiot," he offered weakly, rolling his eyes at Harrington.

 

Ryan grinned in return and nodded once, then looked down at his feet and kept his eyes downcast, hands shoved in his pockets. They climbed off the elevator and he turned toward his room, waving at the rest of them. He was fidgeting with the key in his hand when Boone stopped him.

 

"Hey, look…" he almost looked surprised when Ryan turned around. "About, um, what happened? I just, uh, I wanted to just apologize--"

 

Ryan took a breath and plastered on a smile, interrupting him. "No, no, not at all. You don't have to apologize. I was…" Ryan trailed off, wasn't even sure what he was trying to say.  _ Please don't freak out that I'm gay _ wasn't how he needed this conversation to go. "It was...whatever. Let's just pretend it didn't happen, yeah?" He wasn't sure he was ready to hear Boone tell him what a mistake it was, how much he never wanted to do that. He wasn't ready to be told, irrevocably, that Boone was definitely  _ not _ attracted to him.

 

Boone went still, "Oh." He looked like he was scrambling for what to say next, eyes clouded and mouth moving but no sounds coming out. "Oh, okay. I mean, yeah. We can just do that, I guess. Just...ignore it. Okay. I guess that's...a good idea."

 

"Still okay? Friends?" Ryan offered, sounding more cheerful than he felt.

 

Boone smiled a little bit and gave a weak, forced chuckle. "Yeah, Murr. Of course. Friends."

 

Ryan nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "Night, Bam." He didn't give Boone a chance to respond, just opened his door and then locked it behind him, leaving all the uncertainty and questions and lost hopes in the hall.

____

 

Ryan was back in the lineup for their next game; even if it was mostly because Seth was banged up, he was grateful to get out there again. They'd been winning since he'd been back from injury, and the team had gone from a bubble team to only a few points out of first place. There was a low buzz of confidence in the locker room for the first time in a while; this was the time of year everyone looked forward to, and hitting your stride in March was ideal.

 

Ryan and Boone weren't actively avoiding each other, necessarily, but things were distinctly...chilly between them. Boone was staying at his own place every night again, and they were only hanging out together when at least one of the other guys was around. Ryan wasn't entirely sure if that was his doing or Boone's. Probably a little bit of each.

 

Hurt feelings would have to wait, though, because they had a playoff race to focus on. They won against Ottawa, and then they faced Boston. The game was back and forth, momentum shifting from Columbus to Boston and back again, and eventually it headed to overtime. Even though he'd had a decent game--even pitched in an assist--Ryan wasn't anticipating much 3-on-3 ice time, but he got a tap on the shoulder halfway into the OT.

 

Alex had the puck on the wall when he found Ryan circling toward the blue line, and there it was, just enough space between two Bruins. Cam was right there for the pass, took two strides and then he sniped it past Tuukka Rask. It was their eighth win in a row and the whole team piled out on the ice to join the celebration. 

 

"Great fuckin' pass, Murr!"

 

"Attaboy Ryan, way to go."

 

Everyone was patting him on the helmet and crushing him in with Cam and Wenny, and then Boone got to them, hooked an arm around Ryan's shoulder and shook him a little. "Great fucking job, Murr. Fuckin' beauty play." He tapped him on the helmet and then hugged him in closer again, beaming bright when their eyes met. Ryan tapped his gloved hand into Boone's chest and grinned back at him. If he lingered in Boone's arms a beat longer than necessary, no one else seemed to notice. It was the closest they'd been to each other since they'd agreed to not talk about what happened.

 

After having his best game in quite some time, Ryan got the kepi--a throwback Civil War hat that the Jackets used for their team-voted player of the night honor--and he looked like an idiot wearing it, but less than a week removed from a healthy scratch, it felt damn good for his teammates to decide he had earned such an honor. He didn't have much time to enjoy it because they had a flight out that night and another game in New York the next evening; for the moment, it felt good to silence the doubts, even if he knew it likely wouldn't last for long.

 

He didn't have a game quite as strong after that, but even once Jonesy was healthy again, Ryan stayed in the lineup and continued to get decent ice time. He couldn't think too much about the fight with Tortorella or the...almost something that almost happened with Boone, because every other night there was a game to play, and by this time of the year they were all big games. The Jackets still had an outside chance to win the division, and a strong case for home ice in the first round, so every night was an important matchup. 

 

Boone was still being distant, but he wasn't completely avoiding Ryan now. While at the rink or with the team, everything seemed normal, but after spending weeks hanging out with him nearly every day, Boone wasn't spending time at Ryan's place, and he sure as hell wasn't taking pregame naps with him.

 

The apartment felt too quiet now. Too empty.

 

But there was nothing Ryan could do about that. He had to remind himself over and over that he couldn't have kept expecting Boone to stay around like that. They were just friends--not even roommates anymore--so this was normal, much more normal than the few weeks where Boone had been around so much. He was disappointed, couldn't help it, but he also couldn't focus too much on it. He had a job he was battling to keep, he couldn't be distracted.

 

He had the whole offseason to deal with that.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The Blue Jackets would've preferred to clinch a playoff spot much sooner, and with a decisive victory. Instead it came down to an overtime loss in game 80, but an x was an x, and as long as there was one next to "Columbus" on the standings, no one in that locker room was going to be too upset.

 

Last year when they qualified for the playoffs, Nick had suggested a party for the team once the regular season was over. Not a blowout, dragout bash, but a family affair for the older guys to bring their wives and kids. It was to be a celebration of what they'd already accomplished and a moment to relax before what they all hoped would be a long postseason run. 

 

It hadn't worked out last year, but that didn't stop Nick from planning another. He wasn't necessarily a superstitious guy, and he liked the idea of some team bonding before the games got  _ really _ tough.

 

"Cookout at my place Sunday afternoon," he announced in the room the morning after they clinched, as everyone dressed for practice. "If you've got wives or girlfriends, bring something. If you don't, dear god, I don't want anything you dumbasses might try to 'cook,'" he warned, complete with air quotes. "Just grab a veggie tray or something."

 

For the second time in a month, Ryan was a healthy scratch. Only this time, it wasn't so much a punishment as a chance to rest. He spent the evening in the press box with some of the other boys--Jonesy sat on one side, Wenny on the other--resting soreness so they were ready for the playoff run to come.

 

Halfway through the second period, Zach went in search of something to eat, Panarin and Atkinson were deep in conversation about a power play setup, and simultaneously Seth and Alex turned to Ryan. 

 

"So why are you being a freak?" Seth asked, straight to the point.

 

"What?" Ryan glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. The last thing he'd said was about a shot Savvy had blocked a few moments before.

 

"Well not just you, Bam too," Alex clarified. "What's going on? You were besties again--"

 

"Don't say 'besties,'" Seth interrupted, shaking his head. 

 

Wenny frowned, "Why not?"

 

"It's the stupidest word, you know enough English to know that," Jonesy rolled his eyes.

 

Stuck in the middle while they bickered, Ryan was tearing the label off of his water bottle, taking slow breaths to avoid giving away how his heart was pounding. 

 

" _ Anyway _ ," Seth finally spoke up, bringing the discussion back on track. "You and Bam were like old times the last couple of months, he was a cheerful motherfucker for a while. Now he's all bitchy again, and you're holing up by yourself all the time."

 

"Oh, and you look dumb as shit with all that neckbeard," Wenny chimed in.

 

Seth paused and leveled a glance at Alex, but apparently decided not to address that, so he instead looked back at Ryan. "So what the fuck is going on?"

 

Ryan fought off a grimace and took a drink of his water, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. We had dinner in Philly, we're getting along just fine. You're both just being nosy."

 

"Well yeah, Bam snapped at me when I tried asking  _ him _ about this," Wenny shrugged. 

 

Ryan couldn't stop himself from groaning at that. "What the hell is wrong with you two? We're fine. Bam's great. I'm great. Everybody's best friends."

 

"You're full of shit," Seth countered, shaking his head. "You're both being weird as fuck, and he's annoying when you're mad at him."

 

"I'm not mad at him," Ryan insisted, making a face. The label was pulled fully off of his water, and he was now tearing it into thin strips. "No one's angry. Nothing happened. Leave it alone."

 

"You're both such idiots," Seth muttered, sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. But before he could say anything else, Zach returned with two slices of pizza bigger than his head and it was more fun to chirp him about that than to keep hounding Ryan.

 

They lost the game, but ultimately, with all the players resting, he wasn't sure they'd really expected anything else. They had a playoff opponent now--finally a team that wasn't Pittsburgh--and the plane ride home was spent discussing Ovechkin and Backstrom and Holtby. No one was able to corner Ryan this time, though he caught Alex sitting with Boone for a while and sent up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that Wenny would just leave it alone already.

____

 

It wasn't that Ryan didn't want to go to Nick's party. He understood the reasoning behind it; it was good for the boys to let loose a little before the playoffs started. He had just mostly been trying to avoid Boone. And Seth and Wenny too. It was harder to do that here.

 

Boone was already at Fliggy's house when Ryan arrived. He was on the porch listening to Andy talk, some story full of grand gestures and a lot of profanity that was earning a hefty side-eye from some of the wives, whose children were running around in the yard below. If Ryan knew Josh well enough, it was heavily exaggerated if not mostly made up, but the boys were laughing anyway. The camaraderie was good for team morale.

 

Ryan first went for the cooler full of beer that was sitting along the wall of the house, had to dig through a few water bottles to find the Molson. Nick always had good wine, but Ryan couldn't tell the difference between an eight dollar bottle and one that was ten times as expensive. Beer was beer.

 

He found Nick and thanked him for the invitation, then offered the same to his wife, Janelle. It was a bit cold for a cookout, unseasonably so for April, but there was a fire pit on the porch and a larger one in the yard, so there were plenty of ways to warm up. 

 

Ryan was sticking close with some of the older guys, the married ones, catching up on what was happening with their kids. He was still trying to stay out of Boone's way, even if he'd caught his gaze a few times from across the patio. They'd exchanged a silent nod and a half-smile and then Ryan had looked away. 

 

It wasn't until Ryan was opening his second beer that he noticed Seth eyeing him warily and heading his way. Dammit. At least Wenny's girlfriend was back in Columbus now, so it kept him distracted. Ryan clapped his hand on Jonesy's shoulder as he passed and gave a wide grin. "What's up, Jonesy? Havin' a good time?"

 

He didn't leave enough time for an answer, but Seth followed him over to the edge of porch--convenient to both the food and the beer--where Boone and Scotty and Andy were stationed.  "What's going on, boys? I saw Andy making up stories when I got here."

 

"My stories are all true!" Josh protested, clasping hands with Ryan before pushing him away half-heartedly. "Just because you guys are boring fucks doesn't mean everyone else is." 

 

Scotty laughed and drained the last of his beer. "I've been in the building for most of these stories, and I assure you, none of them are as exciting as Andy says they are."

 

Ryan put on his brightest smile as he got to Boone, all too aware that Seth had an eye on them. He extended a hand to him, leaning in close for a masculine handshake/half-hug combination where he mostly clapped Boone's shoulder but otherwise avoided contact. Boone's hand was cold and he was only somewhat successful at hiding the surprise on his face. 

 

"Hey Bam, how're you doin'?" Ryan was going for casual but his voice was deeper than it should be, his smile forced and too broad. He was just hoping Seth didn't notice.

 

"I'm alright, Murrs," he took a half-step back, barely enough for Ryan to notice. Boone laughed, a choked off huff. "Just listening to Andy's supposed best hookup ever story."

 

"It  _ was _ the best hookup ever! You shoulda seen this chick, fuckin' total smokeshow," he mimicked the hourglass shape of a woman. "Scotty saw her!"

 

Scotty snickered at that, "Yeah and I also saw her shut you down, bud."

 

Ryan laughed at all the right moments as they chirped each other and tried not to stare too much at Boone. He kept his eyes down mostly, reading the nutritional facts about his beer over and over. Every so often if he shifted on his feet at the same moment Boone did, their shoulders bumped and they both muttered an apology and stepped back again. 

 

Seth was still watching them.

 

Fortunately relief came in the form of Bob asking for help. "Hey, Fliggy wants me to go get some more wine. Wanna come help, Murrs?"

 

He only asked Ryan because he was standing closest, and Ryan knew precious little about wine other than red, white and blush, but it was an out, and he was going to run with it. He set his beer on the railing. "Lead the way, Bob."


	15. Chapter 15

The wine cellar was really just a small room at the far end of Nick's basement, maybe only eight feet deep and half as wide, all done in dark wood and stone. There was enough space for two, but barely. One wall had white wines, the other had reds. "We should probably do a Cabernet or something, that'll go with the burgers," Bob explained, running his fingertips over labels as he looked over Nick's selection. 

 

He could've said literally anything and Ryan would have nodded along dumbly. "Just tell me what to grab, I'm not the connoisseur here."

 

Bob reached up and pulled down a bottle of a deep, dark red wine. "This one, definitely, but we need more bottles than this." He grabbed the two that were shelved and nodded to a box up above. "There's more in there, get that down, I'll take these up. Get three more bottles."

 

Ryan was thankful for the cool quiet of the wine cellar, so he was all too happy to stay down here and help out. It kept him from Seth's prying and the agony of being too-close and also too-far from Boone.  He was coming down off the step stool with the case of wine in hand when he heard footsteps on the basement stairs. "Are you sure this is all we need? Maybe someone wants something that's not red?"

 

He turned to set the box down and almost dropped the whole damn thing on the floor, because it wasn't Bob standing there. 

 

"Uh. Bob asked me to grab a few bottles he left out?" Boone said by way of explanation, gesturing weakly at the case Ryan was holding. "Are, uh, are those the bottles?"

 

Ryan opened his mouth twice before it worked completely. The room was too small, and Boone was too close, and this was really the first time they'd been alone since...well. Since. "Oh, um, yeah. He said Cabernet is good with burgers."

 

The cellar door shut with a click, and then a moment later came an audible jiggle of the handle. Bob was standing on the other side, trying to jimmy it open, but the handle didn't turn. "I forgot it locks! Have to get the key!" he called through the door, his voice trailing off and his footsteps going quieter and then silent.

 

Boone tried the door from the inside, but sure enough, it was locked. He turned it twice more, like it would mysteriously come loose, but it didn't budge. That meant that this too small, too quiet room, with barely enough walking space for two, it was suddenly very claustrophobic. "It figures Nick would keep his wine under lock and key," Ryan offered weakly, forcing a laugh. "I'm sure it'll only be a minute."

 

Boone leaned against the door and raked a hand over his hair. "Right, of course. Just forgot about the lock. We, uh. Should open up that case. So we can take the bottles up."

 

"Yes!" Ryan exclaimed too loudly, then cleared his throat. He was glad to have a task, a distraction. He cut through the shipping tape and opened the box, pulling out three bottles. "Bob said that should be enough."

 

"Most of us aren't even drinking wine," Boone took three of them, careful to avoid actually touching Ryan. He could smell Boone's cologne, though, filling the tiny space. Ryan had bought that cologne for him for Christmas a couple of years before. "I don't think we even need this much."

 

"Yeah, I think only Fliggy, Bob and Cam and some of the wives are drinking wine. I guess they wanted to have extra just in case," Ryan explained it away, closing up the case again and climbing up to put it back on the shelf. It  _ did _ seem odd that Bob would send Boone down to help when he was already getting it, but Ryan didn't say anything. How long did it take for Bob to get back downstairs? It felt like an eternity already.

 

An extended, awkward silence followed. "Bob's taking his good sweet time getting that key, eh?" Boone forced a chuckle, staring down at his feet.

 

He definitely was taking a long time. An excessively long time.

 

Ryan took out his phone and tapped out a message to Scotty. Better Scotty than Seth. 

 

_ tell bob to get his ass down here w the key _

 

"Those dumbasses probably did this on purpose," Ryan muttered when it was quite clear no one was coming downstairs.

 

"Bob?" Boone shrugged a shoulder. "Nah, Bob is just probably being a goalie, he's goofy as shit. Got distracted and forgot about us down here." 

 

_ jonesy said ur in timeout _

 

"Oh, what the fuck," Ryan shoved his phone in his pocket when he finally got the response from Harrington. 

 

"What's up?"

 

"It's just a...prank," Ryan chose his words carefully. The last thing he needed was Boone realizing that Seth was playing matchmaker. And apparently conspiring with Bob-- _ Bob? _ \--to do it. "They definitely locked us in here on purpose."

 

Boone made a face, "Well if they're gonna lock us in here, they can at least make sure we've got beer."

 

"I mean, we've got all the wine we could ever drink." Ryan sighed deeply and sent off a text to Seth. 

 

_ Hilarious. come get us. _

 

The response came quickly. 

 

_ Did u talk? _

 

"Think I'd get traded if I killed Jonesy?"

 

"Probably, yeah," Boone had angled past Ryan, crowding his personal space, and was kneeling down, looking at the bottles in the wine fridge.

 

_ nothing to talk about. Ur an idiot. Get the key. _

 

_ Talk 1st, then we'll let you out. _

 

"I might be willing to take my chances on that, this is all Jonesy's fault," Ryan dropped his phone in his pocket.

 

Boone apparently decided against any of the wines and stood against the opposite counter from Ryan. In the small space, their feet were nearly touching. Boone was distressed; his brow was knotted and he was chewing on his lip. "This is all my fault, really, Jonesy's just being a dumbass."

 

"Well no, it's me. He's trying to…" Ryan grasped for the right words, "...fix stuff? He thinks I'm being weird."

 

Boone hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. "Well, I mean. You are, kinda."

 

Ryan grimaced and stared down at his hands. "I guess so, yeah. I just thought you'd want some. Space. After…" he trailed off, motioning vaguely between Boone and himself.

 

Boone frowned, his whole face changing with it. "Shit, man. I didn't mean for all of that to happen. You were all worked up and, I don't know, I guess vulnerable? And then I just did... _ that _ . I totally get why you wanted some distance, after I took advantage of you."

 

"You didn't _ take advantage _ of anything," Ryan was watching him, confused. "That's not what this is about at all."

 

Boone slumped in on himself more, arms wrapped around his midsection. "You stopped me. You said no. You didn't even want to  _ talk _ about it afterward, so obviously I did take advantage. I thought maybe there was something...there. But I pushed it too far and I was wrong. I know you're freaked out by it and I'm really sorry for all of it." He looked up finally with a weak, sad smile. "You're the best friend I've got and I fucked it up because I wanted more than that."

 

Halfway through Boone's stilted, stumbling monologue, Ryan realized the disconnect. "Hold the fuck up, you think  _ I'm _ the one who's freaked out? Because you kissed me?"

 

Boone grimaced largely and buried his face in one of his hands, "We did more than just  _ kiss _ ."

 

Ryan waved that off and started to pace, tension tightening his neck and twisting his insides. "Yeah, yeah, I'm well aware of that. But wait, you aren't freaked out about kissing me? Shouldn't you be? And you just said you wanted...more? You aren't even gay!"

 

It was Boone's turn to look incredulous. "Well no, I'm  _ bi _ , but you're not!"

 

_ Oh. Oh shit. _

 

"Oh my god," Ryan groaned, all of the pieces finally starting to click into place. "You're  _ bi _ ? You have literally only ever brought girls home. How the hell was I ever gonna know you were  _ bi _ ?"

 

"Well of course I brought girls back; I don't need another fucking Deadspin story, I'm not gonna go pick up dudes somewhere," Boone frowned. "Even I'm not dumb enough for that." Boone took a deep breath, still looking miserable. "And then I go and kiss  _ you _ and I go way too far and you're you, so you're too nice to tell me to fuck off…"

 

"I was jealous," Ryan cut him off.

 

Boone looked up, confused. "What?"

 

"The girls. When you brought girls home, I was shitty with you because I was losing my fucking mind, watching you with them, hearing you with them…" Ryan ran both hands through his hair and let out a laugh, embarrassed. "I was so fucking jealous. That should've been  _ me _ ."

 

Boone stared at him for a long moment, jaw dropped open. "Wait, so…"

 

Ryan rolled his eyes and chuckled, pent up emotion bubbling up. "Boone, I'm gay. That's  what all of this is about. Why I was weird about you bringing women home, why I was weird after you married Jonesy. It's why they locked us in this fucking wine cellar, to get me to  _ tell _ you how into you I am. And for the record, I didn't stop you. I was saying 'no' because I didn't have any condoms. I was halfway through ripping your clothes off."

 

Boone was still gawking, wide-eyed with shock, and then finally his mouth closed and he started to smile. A soft one at first, but then bigger, taking over his whole face. "Holy shit, really?" He stepped closer to Ryan, crowding him in against the shelves of wine, his breath coming quick, stunted, as his eyes drifted over Ryan's face, searching. "You're sure, yeah?"

 

Ryan closed the scant distance between them in response, pressing his lips to Boone's, swallowing up the surprised little noise he made. He felt Boone's smile and pulled him in closer, winding an arm around his shoulders. Boone paused for half a breath, like he was getting used to the idea, and then all hesitation was gone. He crushed his mouth against Ryan's, teeth scraping over his top and then lower lip, tongue smoothing along the skin to follow. He had Ryan pushed up against the counter now, Ryan gripping one hand at the cool marble, the other laced through Boone's short hair. 

 

Boone bracketed himself close against Ryan, holding him in place while they kissed, gripping his hip, rubbing over his side, fisting his fingers in the edge of Ryan's shirt. He was gasping into Ryan's mouth, desperate, helpless noises; Ryan was just trying to hold on, one arm slung around his shoulders, the other scrabbling for balance on the counter behind him. He nearly knocked over a bottle of the Cabernet that Bob had chosen, so as he looked away to right it, he decided it was better to just hold onto Boone with  _ both _ hands. 

 

While Ryan's head was turned, Boone dragged his lips along his jaw, pressing soft, sucking kisses just below his chin, the sensitive skin of his throat. He grazed his teeth here and there, waiting for a spot that elicited the loudest moan and then he  _ bit _ , enough that Ryan was sure there'd be a tell-tale mark later.

 

Boone turned them, leaning against the counter himself, rubbing his hand over Ryan's shoulder and down his back, finally gripping his ass and hauling him in close, angling them so he had one calf hooked at Ryan's knee. He was still exploring Ryan's neck with his teeth and tongue, trailing kisses and nips along the ridge of collarbone, then moving back up, over the mound of his Adam's apple, a gentle press of his lips to the reddened high stick scar on Ryan's chin, and then finally he returned to Ryan's mouth, urgent and needy.

 

Ryan curled each of his thumbs into the belt loops of Boone's jeans, pulling their hips even closer together, sucking on Boone's lower lip as he rolled his pelvis forward, rocking into him. This was definitely not the time or place to be working himself up like this, and he kept telling himself he was going to stop. He was going to pull away from Boone's mouth. He was going to let Boone's hips go. And then they were going to talk about what all of this meant. Instead, he just tilted his head to the side so he could deepen the kiss even further.

 

Ryan didn't bother pulling back until he felt the insistent vibration of his phone buzzing in his pocket. "Mm, wait," he protested reluctantly, pressing a hand to Boone's chest to put some distance between them. "We can't do this here."

 

Boone pulled Ryan closer and snaked both arms around him, burying his face against Ryan's shoulder. "Yeah, I know."

 

Ryan nuzzled into Boone's hair for a moment, just enjoying the warmth of being held, until his phone went off  _ again _ . Five texts, all from Jonesy.

 

_ Did u talk? _

 

_ Murrs. What's going on? _

 

_ Murrs? _

 

_ RYAN. r u guys ok? _

 

_ omg r u fucking in fliggy's wine cellar?? _

 

Ryan laughed aloud at the last one, his cheeks going warm when Boone cocked an eyebrow. "Jonesy's a dumbass, that's all."

 

_ we talked. we're good now. and no we're not fucking in fliggy's wine cellar. _

 

Boone was kissing Ryan's neck again but it had lost its urgency, and now he was moving slow, almost lazily, and as much as Ryan didn't really  _ want _ to stop, he knew they had to go back upstairs. The rest of the team would notice they were gone. His phone went off again as he was reluctantly extricating himself from Boone's grasp, and he kissed the disappointed frown from his lips. "Later."

 

_ I'm coming down to unlock the door. don't do anything gross yet. _


	16. Chapter 16

They were pretty disheveled when Seth let them out of the wine cellar. Ryan was trying to smooth down his shirt and hair but he could feel the stubble-burn on his jaw, and there was an obvious red spot bitten into Boone's lower lip.

 

Seth watched with a lewd, knowing grin as Boone ducked past, wine bottles in hand, and went up the stairs, and then he turned to Ryan. "It's about damn time," he commented, flicking a spot on Ryan's neck. "You're gonna want to try to hide the hickey around the boys. Good luck with that."

 

Ryan blushed bright red and rubbed a hand over his throat, trying to hide the bruise. He was glad he'd worn a hoodie today, hopefully it would cover the mark. "I can't believe you had  _ Bob _ lock us in here."

 

"You two were gonna drive us all nuts being pathetic as fuck about each other, and I couldn't keep watching it," Seth led Ryan toward the steps. "Bob was a damn good decoy, I'm proud of that choice."

 

Ryan shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around what had happened, what could still happen later. Wenny caught his eye once they got back to the porch and his lips curled up in his patented smirk. Ryan flipped him off, but he wasn't quite able to stop smiling. 

 

"Wondered where you dumbfucks went to, I can't believe you locked yourselves in Fliggy's wine cellar," Dubi said around a mouthful of burger. "Fuckin' morons."

 

Ryan had expected chirping when they got back upstairs. He'd assumed that the whole team knew what was going on, but that didn't appear to be the case. Outside of a few pointed looks from Alex and Seth, and an awkward half-hug from Bob, no one was paying any more attention to them than usual.

 

So it appeared that not  _ everyone _ realized it was a setup. 

 

They couldn't leave right away, even if Ryan was dying to do exactly that, so instead he went to get another beer and some food. He tried to keep up with the conversation around him, but he was distracted. Seth was looking smug and Wenny wouldn't stop smirking (though that might have just been Alex's resting face, Ryan couldn't be sure). And then there was Boone, sitting across from him and pushing food around on his plate. He was laughing at all the appropriate moments, but he seemed distracted, fidgety. He licked his lips a  _ lot _ , tongue stuck out, and it had Ryan thinking about a lot of things that he definitely didn't need to be imagining while sitting here surrounded by teammates. After a few minutes, Boone caught him staring. His lip curled up slightly and he raised one brow; Ryan ducked his head and broke the gaze, hoping no one caught the flush on his cheeks.

 

Calvert was the first one to call it a night. "Alright boys, it's been a blast, but if I don't get the kid home soon, he'll never go to sleep." Once he left, several of the other guys followed suit, especially those who had children.

 

It wasn't late--usually the younger, single guys stuck it out until at least midnight--but Ryan was itching to get home. To talk with Boone about what it all meant. And maybe to make out with Boone some more.

 

And perhaps do some other things with Boone as well.

 

As Ryan was standing up and twirling his keys on his finger, Seth protested. "Muuurr, buddy, you can't go yet! The night is young!"

 

Ryan pursed his lips and blinked at him. If anyone should want him and Boone to leave early, Ryan would think it was Jonesy. He was the main one who had any real grasp of what had happened in the wine cellar. Hell, he'd been maybe-not-so-cleverly trying to get them together for weeks now. "You boys are welcome to stay as late as you like, but I'm gonna head out. Besides, Fliggy's gonna want to get his kids in bed soon too."

 

Alex booed loudly and threw a balled up napkin at him. "You're the worst. You owe us a round next time we go out."

 

Boone stretched out and yawned, and it was so obvious Ryan had to bite back a groan. "I don't know, I think Ryan's got a point tonight. We've got a tough practice tomorrow, we should get some rest."

 

Harrington rolled his eyes and smirked, chuckling good-naturedly. "You two are the  _ least _ subtle ever. Get out of here, go spoon or whatever." 

 

Ryan's eyes went wide at that, and he looked around to see if anyone else was close enough to hear. But fortunately it was just the small group of them; anyone else who hadn't gone home yet was caught up in their own conversations.

 

"Oh relax, Murrs," Anderson finished his beer. "No one heard us. And give us some credit here, eh? We're not complete idiots; you two have been moping about each other for months. Go make out, even if you're both way too ugly to be kissing anyone."

 

The teasing held a different tone than it had months ago, after Vegas. This was just friends mocking each other, sexuality not even part of the equation. They would be giving Ryan shit just the same if he picked up a woman who was out of his league. Hell, they probably loved that they could chirp both him and Boone at once. Two birds with one stone.

 

Boone crossed his arms over his chest, grinning smugly. "Ugly or not, at least  _ I  _ can actually manage to take someone home." 

 

Ryan laughed and looked down at the floor, his cheeks going warm. "Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, all of you. We're both ugly and you're all dumbasses. See you boys at practice tomorrow." Andy let out a loud wolf whistle as they left, and Ryan threw two middle fingers back at him.

 

Boone followed Ryan down toward the driveway and beyond, to where their cars were parked along the road. "So, uh, do you want to..talk about all of this when we get home?" he asked, nerves evident in his voice. 

 

Ryan glanced over his shoulder and smiled, "We should probably do that, yeah. Figure out what all this...is." 

 

"So I'll come down to your place when we get back," Boone stood next to Ryan's car, a bit too close, but not enough that anyone watching would be any the wiser. Ryan wanted to kiss him again. 

 

"I'll let you know when I'm home," he leaned in for a half-hug instead, a manly pat on the back, but they held it a beat too long. Ryan took a deep breath--Boone smelled like firewood and smoke, mostly--before reluctantly pulling away. If he didn't stop himself now, he  _ would _ be kissing Boone right here on the street, and neither of them needed that kind of drama. So instead, he climbed into his car to go home.

 

Ryan was most certainly driving too fast, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The sooner he got back, the sooner he and Boone could talk, and kiss...and more. If they ended up tangled together in his bed again, would Boone stop this time? And if he didn't, just how far would it go?

 

Oh  _ fuck _ .

 

Ryan still had the same problem he'd had weeks ago--that drawer next to his bed was still empty. He never had gone to buy condoms. And if it came to a place where they needed a condom, shit, he would need to get lube too. He was pretty sure the hand lotion he often used for jerking off wouldn't work for  _ sex _ . That dilemma was how Ryan found himself making a last minute detour through a questionable neighborhood and in search of an even more suspect adult store at 10 o'clock on a Sunday night. 

 

There was one closer to his apartment, but it was  _ close to his apartment _ , where he was more likely to be seen and recognized. That was about the worst possible thing Ryan could imagine. Well, except perhaps for being tricked into his captain's wine cellar and locked up in it until he made out with his best friend, while all of his other friends knew exactly what was going on, and then having to face them afterward, all while sporting a deep pink hickey on his neck.

 

It had already been an interesting enough day, being recognized while buying lube and condoms wasn't something he needed to add to it.

 

The store was in a nondescript building, the shop tiny and had only a single window. That single window was almost completely covered by a homemade sign that said "Adult Supermart" and the street number in block letters, on a piece of heavy plasterboard, the only outside indication that the place was a store at all. The garish fluorescent lights and the porn playing on large tvs throughout the space made it look even seedier than he'd anticipated; he wished that he'd brought the bottle of hand sanitizer that was in the console of his car. The cashier was giving him the eye, and there was only one other customer in the place who was looking all too excitedly at a shelf of DVDs. 

 

Ryan grabbed a bottle of lube and a box of condoms, only giving each label a quick once-over to be sure he was getting the right thing, before going to the register to check out. He didn't want to spend any more time in here than was necessary. He already felt like he should probably bathe as soon as he left.

 

He sped the rest of the way home and sent off a text to Boone as soon as he parked his car. He was fishing his keys from his pocket when Boone, carrying a six-pack of Ryan's favorite beer, stepped off the elevator and started walking toward him. "What the hell took you so long? You left before I did."

 

Ryan blushed and focused on unlocking the door. "I just had a quick stop on my way, that's all."

 

Boone followed him inside and set the bottles on the counter, pulling out two of them and popping off the caps. "You didn't change your mind or anything, did you?" He was chuckling as he asked it, like it was a joke, but the laughter was forced.

 

Ryan shook his head, a little too vehemently. "No, that's definitely  _ not _ what took so long." He set the paper bag on the table, where it tottered and fell over, the bottle of lube rolling out. He tried to grab it, but he didn't get there before Boone saw it.

 

"So  _ that _ is the stop you had to make." He stepped over to Ryan, handing over one of the beers, his eyes twinkling devilishly. "Well well well, Ryan. What kinda guy do you think I am?"

 

"Oh my god, no," Ryan stammered, shoving the offending item back in the bag. "I didn't mean...we don't have to do, uh. Anything. I just. In case." He hadn't said an actual sentence there, he was pretty sure, but he was having a hard time making his mouth work. He was going to fuck this up before it even became a thing.

 

But Boone was smirking, clearly amused. "Easy, Murrs. Take a breath before you hyperventilate." He took the paper bag from Ryan's grasp. "We'll get there."


	17. Chapter 17

Halfway through their third beer, Ryan was sitting with his legs propped in Boone's lap, being laughed at. "I can't believe I never sorted it out, holy shit," Boone was saying, hand smacked against his forehead. "It was like 'fuck, I've got this hot ass roommate, how is he never getting laid?' And I just thought you were super fucking shy, so I figured I'd wingman for you. And then you'd just play guitar for them and barely  _ talk _ to me afterward; I couldn't figure what the hell was wrong." 

 

Ryan groaned and raked a hand through his hair. "I couldn't just  _ tell _ you, what if you freaked out?"

 

Boone made a face, offended. "Are you kidding me? I've seen you at your fuckin' worst. I even cleaned your bathroom after our rookie dinner, when you somehow managed to get puke on  _ three _ of the four walls. You could've trusted me with that!"

 

"Oh sure, sure. You're bringing home nines and tens every week, and they're  _ loudly _ letting me know how good you are in there," Ryan frowned at the memory, "and I was supposed to just magically know that you're bi? You're bringing girls home at least twice a week, total ladies man, and I'm gonna tell you  _ that _ ? Like oh hey, Bam. I'm not into banging girls because I want to be banging  _ you _ instead? I thought you were straight. And you  _ saw _ how everyone reacted after the marriage thing. It was way too damn risky. It was easier to just be real goddamn awkward with every girl you tried setting me up with." 

 

Boone nodded slowly, contemplative. "I thought you were a prude, or secretly super religious or something. Like what hockey player doesn't hook up? Even if just to keep up appearances, you know?"

 

"I just couldn't bring myself to fake it," Ryan shrugged, finishing his beer. "I was never really into girls at all, so it just wasn't worth it. Better to just handle it myself," he made a vague jerking motion and blushed, but Boone just smirked. 

 

"See, all this time I could've just been taking care of that for you," he shook his head, rubbing slow circles along Ryan's knee, up the outside of his thigh. He kept inching his hand higher with each go 'round, and he went quiet for a while. "When did you realize it? That you were gay?"

 

"Grade 9 probably?" Ryan thought back over it, tapping off years on his fingertips. "By then I'd realized every crush I ever had was on another guy, either a teammate or a kid in one of my classes. I never even thought about girls when I was by myself." He shrugged a shoulder, shifting down lower on the couch; he wasn't too far removed from sitting in Boone's lap, now. "But it wasn't like I could  _ do _ anything about it. Once I got to Everett, I kissed a few guys, and there was one kid who lived across the street from my billet family, and we hooked up twice. But then he went off to university. After that, I was getting a lot of attention for the draft, and Team Canada, so it just felt way too dangerous to try for anything."

 

"So you haven't hooked up since  _ juniors _ ?" Boone's eyes were wide, incredulous. 

 

Ryan's cheeks went bright red, "Well. Not exactly. Sometimes on the road, when we're somewhere like Florida or Phoenix, somewhere that no one knows who the fuck I am, no one knows shit about hockey...Grindr is pretty anonymous if you're careful."

 

"Grindr? You dog!" Boone laughed, squeezing high on Ryan's thigh. "Here I thought you were this innocent, celibate kid, and you're hooking up with randos on  _ Grindr _ ." 

 

"It only happened a few times, and they were mostly just blowjobs anyway. Besides, you were hooking up just the same!" Ryan protested, throwing a weak punch at Boone's bicep. "You were just hooking up with women."

 

"Gotta get laid sometimes," he said with a shrug. "Sex is sex, and sometimes it was  _ good _ sex. It was never going to be more than a one-night thing with any of them, but a guy's got needs, you know?"

 

"I heard you satisfying those needs plenty," Ryan assured him.

 

Boone waggled his eyebrows in response. "Were you listening, bud?" Ryan flushed pink again and hid his face against the couch cushions. Boone took Ryan's beer and set both of their bottles on the coffee table, then he nudged Ryan's legs out of his lap and shifted to lie next to him on the sofa, his body a warm weight against Ryan's side. "I thought about it sometimes," he was kissing Ryan's cheek, along the overgrowth of beard at his jaw, down his throat. "Wondered what you'd do if I knocked on your door late…"

 

Ryan leaned into the touch and sucked in a breath. Boone feathered soft, wet kisses down his neck, tracing the cord of muscle that curved over to his shoulder. Ryan raked a hand through his hair to hold him closer and Boone followed his direction. He tugged at Ryan's shirt and pulled him in tight, arms sliding around Ryan's waist while he hooked a leg up over Ryan's thigh. It was a snug fit--the couch wasn't necessarily meant for two full grown men to lie on together--but neither minded the proximity. Ryan tipped Boone's chin up to catch his mouth in a kiss that started soft, exploratory, but quickly went passionate and needy.

 

They stayed there for a while, losing track of time, sometimes kissing rough and desperate, biting teeth and low growls; moments later they were tender, punctuated with breathless gasps and noses nudging over each other when they parted, cycling between the two extremes and meandering the space between. 

 

Boone had his hands up under the hem of Ryan's shirt, his callused fingers rough on the sensitive skin of Ryan's lower back. Their hips were fitted together and their legs were tangled, and Boone's shirt was unbuttoned halfway, his stomach pressed to Ryan's where his was pulled up. Ryan had his fingers threaded through Boone's hair, letting his fingernails drag along the back of his neck. He slid his hands to Boone's collar, unbuttoning his shirt completely and pushing it out of the way, his fingers drifting to touch Boone's shoulders, his biceps, following down to his forearms. 

 

"We should go back to my room," Ryan mumbled into Boone's ear, though he got distracted flicking his tongue over the lobe, sucking it into his mouth and tugging just to hear Boone gasp.

 

"Mm, wait," Boone pulled away slowly, putting just enough space between them so he could see Ryan's face. His eyes were dazed, unfocused. "I don't want just a...tonight thing. Shouldn't we like, go on a date or something?"

 

Boone was licking his lips again, a nervous habit that was sure to drive Ryan to madness, and he was shirtless, chest heaving with each breath. And Ryan was  _ achingly  _ hard. Yet there they were, Boone wondering about whether they were supposed to go on a  _ date _ first. "We've seen each other naked like 500 times," Ryan answered simply. When Boone lifted a brow and his lip twisted up on one side, he clarified. "It's not like we're just random people meeting at the bar and hooking up, we've been friends forever. We lived together for years. I've seen your dick in the locker room almost every day since we were 19. I think we can probably skip a first date."

 

Boone huffed out a laugh and scrunched his nose, "Hey, I'm trying to be a proper gentleman here! I thought you'd want a date before I go pulling your pants off."

 

"Consider all our nights out over the last five years as dates, eh? We're on date like, 392 at this point," Ryan waved off the concern, rubbing his hand over Boone's stomach, his fingers splayed wide. 

 

Boone leaned into the touch and went back to kissing his way down Ryan's jaw, then his neck. "Well then I guess we're really  _ behind _ on getting to this part, if we've been on that many dates." 

 

His kisses had gone slower, leisurely, while Ryan stroked through his hair and down his back. "You've done this before, yeah? Like...with a guy?"

 

Boone leaned back a little bit, enough for Ryan to see his face; his cheeks were a little pink now, teeth worrying over his bottom lip. "It's been a long time," he explained, shrugging one shoulder. "Like you said, it's hard nowadays. So the last time I hooked up with a guy was my last year Oshawa. I've gotten a few bjs, but that's really it. So, uh. I'll need some...prep." He was tugging on his earlobe, looking anywhere but at Ryan.

 

Ryan smiled and cupped a hand at Boone's cheek, tilting his face up to kiss him. It was soft this time, sweet. "We've got all night, Bam. Come on. Bedroom."

 

He vaguely thought about the fact that his bed wasn't made, and there was a pile of clothes on the floor that he was supposed to be sorting for laundry. He hadn't planned for a romantic evening. He would've changed his sheets. Maybe he should find a candle to light. 

 

Boone didn't seem to notice or care, though. As soon as they were in the bedroom, he shimmied his pants down and stepped out of them, crawling onto the unmade bed. He was flushed already, up to his ears and down his chest, the pink all too obvious on his pale skin. He was wearing short striped trunks, not quite briefs, but shorter than boxers, snug in all the right places…

 

"Did you wear special underwear for me?" Ryan blurted before he could stop himself.

 

Boone groaned, his cheeks going even brighter red. "Well  _ yeah _ , I wasn't gonna show up here tonight in boring ass boxers."

 

Ryan looked down at himself, his jeans pooled at his ankles, and indeed he was wearing 'boring ass boxers,' simple grey plaid, the elastic worn and stretched thin, the legs a bit snug around his thighs, slightly cutting into his skin. They were at least three years old, and his legs were more muscled now than when he'd bought them. 

 

Boone had gone from embarrassed to amused. "Oh fuck, I hadn't even thought of this. You don't own sexy underwear, do you?"

 

"Who buys sexy underwear?!"

 

"People who plan to have sex?" Boone asked, eyes bright. "I go home and manscape it up and put on my sexy 30 dollar trunks for you and you're wearing rookie season boxers?" Boone was up off the bed now, standing in front of Ryan, looking him all over. "There's a hole in these!" he exclaimed, wiggling his finger into a small tear along the seam at Ryan's hip.

 

"I wasn't expecting to get laid when I got dressed today!" Ryan protested. "You had time to get changed before I got home."

 

Boone was smirking, playful, "Yeah? And if you would've had time, what would you have changed into? Got a secret pair of sexy boxer briefs you could've worn?" 

 

Ryan was embarrassed, sure, but Boone was rubbing along the stretched-out waist of his shorts and standing close enough that he could feel the warmth of his body. "Well no, I don't have anything like that. But like, I have newer boxers...that don't have any holes…"

 

Boone was beaming, eyes lit with amusement. He was very clearly still interested despite Ryan's poor choice of undergarments, his dick blatantly hard in his striped trunks. "And have you  _ ever _ trimmed up down here?" He tucked two fingers into the front of Ryan's waistband and tugged it forward so he could peek down along his pelvis. 

 

Ryan batted his hand away--of course the answer was no; he hadn't ever really thought about trimming his pubic hair as a necessity--and Boone laced their fingers together, pulling him in for a firm kiss. "Well lucky for  _ you _ ," he said, still grinning against Ryan's mouth, "I'm hot for you being all fuzzy anyway."

 

Ryan bit down on Boone's lip and tugged. "So you're into it, but you're still  _ chirping _ me before we even get naked?"

 

"Damn right I'm gonna chirp your bad hookup etiquette," Boone smiled broadly and wiggled his eyebrows. "But you're still cute as hell, and besides, we can just get these terrible things out of the way." He shoved down on the waist of Ryan's boxers, pushing them down his thighs, letting them fall to Ryan's ankles. He stepped back just enough to look, from Ryan's chest, down his stomach, a low hum of appreciation as his gaze dipped lower. "That's  _ much _ better."

 

Ryan squirmed under the attention; sure he'd been naked in front of Boone before, hundreds of times in fact, but this was entirely different. Boone was standing here in special sexy trunks, body hair trimmed neatly, and Ryan hadn't ever given it any consideration. Boone was unconcerned, though. He rubbed a hand down the flat plane of Ryan's belly and along his pelvis, curling long fingers around the base of Ryan's cock. 

 

He pulled slow, even strokes, feathering kisses along Ryan's neck, biting down just above his collar bone. It didn't take long for Ryan to be fully hard, arousal easing his self-consciousness. He slid both arms around Boone's torso and traced his thumbs along the waist of his underwear, easing the elastic down so he could palm Boone's ass. 

 

"Come on," Boone hissed, biting harder into the curve of Ryan's shoulder, "get me naked already."

 

Ryan pushed his trunks off completely, and he wanted to give Boone the same slow look-over, but Boone was leaning heavily into him, hand still working in slow, methodical strokes over Ryan's cock, now mouthing gentle kisses over the mark he'd bitten into his skin. Boone was hard against Ryan's hip, rocking forward insistently, angling even closer when Ryan gripped the flesh of his ass. Through the haze of need, it dawned on Ryan that there was one very important detail they hadn't yet addressed. 

 

"Fuck, wait," he mumbled into Boone's hair, and Boone took a step back, chewing on his lip, clearly nervous.

 

"What's wrong?" Boone asked, brows drawn tight.

 

Ryan frowned, pulling him in close again. "Nothing's wrong, just...uh. We haven't figured, um. Positions? Like. What do you like?"

 

Realization hit Boone a moment later, and he tried and failed to bite back a laugh. "Christ, Ryan, just ask 'top or bottom' next time," he chuckled, shaking his head. He walked Ryan back toward the bed, nudging him until he was lying back on it, and he climbed up to straddle his hips, and then to add the exclamation point, he ground in slow, deliberate circles against the ridge of Ryan's cock. "How's this sound to you?"

 

Ryan nodded dumbly, breath caught in his throat while Boone rocked down against him. 

 

"Good," Boone grinned broadly and leaned down to capture Ryan's mouth in a kiss, tongue probing and teeth clicking. "But it's been a really long time since I bottomed, so you're gonna have to get me ready." He slid off the bed to grab the lube and condoms that Ryan had brought home. "I had these upstairs, by the way. You could've just asked."

 

Ryan made a face, not even attempting to hide that he was ogling Boone while he walked. "Oh, sure. I can't even figure out the concept of sexy underwear and I'm supposed to ask if you've got lube and rubbers?"

 

"How did you  _ ever _ lose your virginity?" Boone crawled onto the bed again, next to Ryan this time. Before he could answer, Boone was stroking him again, squeezing tighter pressure over the head of his cock, ripping a low moan from Ryan's throat. "Big dick, I guess," he finally said, lips curled in a smirk where they were pressed to Ryan's mouth.

 

Ryan pushed him away, enough to get him on his back. "Hey, I'm awkward as hell, but you're the one laying here hard for it." He reached blindly for the lube and popped the cap open. He poured some into his hand and warmed it before slicking his fingers and turning to Boone, who was watching him intently. His legs were parted already, and he had one hand curled around his cock, stroking himself idly, almost absent-minded.

 

Ryan chewed the inside of his lip as he kneeled between Boone's thighs and hesitated for a long moment. It had been a while--too long--since he'd done this; but he was hoping he could hide how nervous he was. He wanted to be good at this. Good for Boone.

 

Boone gave a soft smile, but didn't chirp. He curled his free hand around Ryan's wrist and guided his hand down, arching into the touch when Ryan parted the cheeks of his ass, rubbing slick fingers over his entrance. He sucked in a huge breath of air when Ryan finally pressed the tip of a finger inside, working slowly past the tight ring of muscle, then kept moaning stuttered but encouraging words as Ryan got him wet and open.

 

"Yeah," he muttered, barely more than a sigh, and Ryan settled down a bit more. He kept working his finger into him, gentle and easy, trying not to push too much, too fast. But Boone was rocking his hips and asking for more, so Ryan pressed a second finger in deep, curling both digits up just slightly, watching Boone's face the whole time. 

 

He kept at it, slow strokes in and then spreading his fingers lightly. Getting fucked always hurt a little bit, sure, but Ryan wanted to make it as painless as possible. Maybe just one more finger, a few more minutes of this...

 

"Just  _ fuck me _ already," Boone growled, pulling Ryan out of his head. 

 

Ryan blushed red, though his whole body felt flushed already, so Boone probably didn't even notice. "Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you're ready."

 

"If you finger me for an hour, I'm gonna come the minute your dick is in me," Boone panted, his eyes dazed, pupils wide. "And that's going to be disappointing as hell for both of us. I'll be good." He turned to his stomach and shifted to lay a pillow beneath his hips. It would be an easier position for this, of course, but Ryan mostly just wanted to  _ stare _ at him, Boone laying there with his knees spread wide, back curved to arch his ass up.

 

" _ Ryan _ ," Boone said, snapping him out of it. 

 

Ryan hurriedly tore open one of the condoms and rolled it on; he was more than ready, had been since they'd tumbled onto the bed. He stroked more of the lube along his shaft and positioned himself behind Boone, between his parted legs. He nestled close, spreading Boone open with one hand, the other curled tight around his cock as he guided it to Boone's entrance, pressing forward carefully. Boone took one sharp intake of breath as he worked the head inside, and Ryan stilled there for a beat, until Boone was pushing back on him. 

 

He leaned heavily into Boone as he bottomed out, gasping hotly against his shoulder, nuzzling the skin. He didn't move at first, just held there at the hilt to let Boone adjust; he pressed kisses to each nub of Boone's spine and stroked gentle pets along his thighs. When Boone went pliant and boneless beneath him, Ryan withdrew, then sank deep again, testing the reaction. Boone sucked in a breath and exhaled it on a curse, but he arched his hips to meet Ryan's next thrust. When it wasn't enough, Boone pushed himself up to his hands and knees.

 

"I said  _ fuck me _ , Ryan."

 

Hesitation gone now, Ryan settled into a steady rhythm; he let his hands drift over Boone's hips and up his back, feeling the muscle shift under his palms as they moved. He wanted this to last, but it was too intense. He was surrounded by the heat of Boone's body, the sounds he made with each of Ryan's thrusts, the way he arched and writhed. All too soon Ryan was panting and on edge.

 

He fumbled a little, but got his hand under Boone, and curled his fingers around his cock, doing his best to stroke to match the pace of his hips, but it had been a long time since he'd done this. He was out of practice, so it was stilted and erratic, but Boone thrust forward anyway. He was moaning--nothing coming out was close to a real word, outside of a few curses--and pushing back to meet Ryan's rhythm. Ryan had wanted to make him come first, but Ryan couldn't stop himself; orgasm hit sudden and hard, and he lost himself in it, hiding his face between Boone's shoulder blades and drawing in huge, harsh breaths. 

 

Boone was bucking beneath him, thrusting into his fist, seeking more friction. Ryan was dazed but he got the hint, stroking him tighter and faster and then Boone came too, clenched tight around Ryan and rocking forward into his hand, his head thrown back on a low, breathless moan.

 

They stayed like that for a long moment, no movement, no noises other than a few soft, pleased sighs--from Ryan or Boone, he wasn't quite sure which, his mind was too hazy to pinpoint. After a few minutes he pulled himself free and moved to take care of the condom and clean himself up. He came out of the bathroom with a warm washcloth for Boone too, who was sitting up in bed, hair spiked with sweat, wearing a sated, lopsided grin.

 

"I got come on your pillow," he offered, holding it up. "Sorry about that."

 

Ryan smirked and crawled onto the bed, handing the cloth to Boone. "You're sleeping on that one, then."

 

"You're making me sleep on the wet spot?" Boone wrinkled his nose, but he kept smiling.

 

"Sleep on the other side of the pillow!" Ryan stretched out on the bed.

 

"It's a good thing you're cute as shit," Boone protested, turning the pillow over and settling in next to him, pulling Ryan into his arms. "And a  _ really _ good lay," he added with a firm kiss and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

 

Ryan's cheeks flushed, and he nodded. "Likewise." He nestled close to Boone, legs tangled together, sweat-damp skin sticking. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but Ryan was too exhausted to bother moving. He yawned into his neck, and lulled by the soft press of Boone's hands on his back, he drifted off to sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Ryan woke to the sound of his phone buzzing on the bedside table and Boone spooned behind him. His hips were achy and a little stiff, and his alarm wasn't set to go off for another 20 minutes. He blindly reached up to stop the vibrating, glancing at the screen to find a text from Foligno. 

 

_ Morning Murr, can I get you and Bam to meet me for coffee before practice? _

 

Anxiety weighed heavy in his gut as he opened the message to respond.

 

_ Sure thing, what time and where? _

 

_ Timmies on Olentangy _ ,  _ say 9:15? _

 

_ We'll be there _

 

Shit. There was no way this was about anything other than them hooking up. Or more than hooking up, whatever this was going to be. That was a discussion they would still need to have.

 

"Bam, hey," he said it quietly, nudging his elbow back into Boone's midsection. Boone hugged him closer in response, hiding his face against the curve of Ryan's neck. "Fliggy wants to meet us for coffee."

 

Boone went still behind him, took a slow breath. "Ah, shit. That's probably about this."

 

"I mean, we were making out in his wine cellar yesterday," Ryan shrugged the shoulder Boone wasn't nuzzling. "And Jonesy and those idiots were pretty loud talking about it."

 

Boone pressed a kiss to Ryan's neck, the spot just below his ear, right at the edge of his beard. Nervous or not, it sent a fire-hot coil to Ryan's groin. They didn't have time for this, though, no matter how much he wanted to turn over in Boone's arms and pick up where they left off. He tipped his head and nudged his nose against Boone's temple, then pulled himself up and out of the bed.

 

"It'll be okay, you know? Fliggy's not gonna freak out that we're together," Boone sat up, stretching his back, a flash of discomfort going over his face before smoothing out again. 

 

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Ryan had tried to get him ready enough, but maybe…

 

"I'm fine," Boone insisted, waving off his concern. "A little bit sore, but that's normal; you're not  _ small _ . I've hurt more after blocking a shot." 

 

Ryan let out a relieved breath. "Okay, good."

 

"You didn't break me, I promise," Boone was standing now, stretching out his back, bare-assed naked and unconcerned about it. "We've gotta figure what we're going to tell Fliggy."

 

Ryan shook his head and stopped staring. "I think it depends how he reacts to it all. He might not want to deal with it. Not even the gay part, just the...locker room complications of it all. He might not want us dating because of that stuff."

 

Boone shrugged a shoulder and strolled into Ryan's bathroom, "We'll deal with that if it comes up. Come on, we've both gotta shower and we don't have enough time for two separate ones." He paused in the doorway and wiggled his brows. "Plus I can give you a handy if we hurry."

____

 

Fortunately the bustle of the Monday morning rush meant that no one was paying much attention when Ryan and Boone sat at the table across from Nick. Ryan had finished off one cup of coffee on the drive and ordered a refill when they arrived. He wasn't sure there was enough caffeine in all of Columbus to get him prepared for this conversation.

 

"First off," Nick said after handshakes and fist bumps, "I don't have to like, sanitize my entire wine cellar, do I? I mean, I don't care what you do on your own, but there wasn't bare ass on any surfaces in there, right?"

 

Boone laughed boisterously and Ryan just tried to slump deeper into his chair, "Oh god, no, Fliggy. It just, uh. It never got to anything like...that," Ryan explained, tripping over his words. "It just uh...it was…"

 

"No harm done, Fligs, just made out for a while is all," Boone finished. He was far less nervous about this whole situation.

 

"Thank God, I appreciate the restraint," he took a drink of his coffee. "And rest assured, I'd have had the same question if Wenny and his girl got locked in there. I see all of you assholes naked in the room, I don't need to imagine any of you like that in my  _ house _ ."

 

"Promise, no sex in your wine cellar," Boone assured him, nodding once.

 

"But this  _ is _ a discussion we need to have. Because apparently this is a thing now, you two?" Nick glanced at each of them. "First off, fucking finally. You two are the most clueless dipshits I've ever met." Boone chuckled and Ryan felt his face go warm. "I figured I'd have to have this conversation with you two a year ago, but here we are. Some of the boys know, obviously, Jonesy and Wenny and the rest of them."

 

"I'm pretty sure they're okay with it," Boone offered. "I woke up to a text with nothing but ten eggplant emojis from Andy this morning."

 

Nick groaned and raked a hand through his hair, "I'm surrounded by idiots.  _ Anyway _ . So the bro crew knows, and Bob was in on getting you locked up down there but I don't think he gets why. Otherwise I think it's just me. It's entirely up to you guys, but I suggest keeping it quiet. I can't say I think Torts would look on this whole thing too favorably."

 

Ryan shook his head vehemently. "No, no, you're right. I think it's fine as it is, with who already knows. Torts was bad enough after Vegas, if he found out we were dating…" he trailed off, thinking of the possibility, "yeah, let's keep this knowledge to those who already have it."

 

"And Colesy's an asshole anyway," Boone added. "He was such a dick when he met me and Jonesy, and he's been weird with Ryan too. He was freaked out enough as it was and Seth and I weren't even  _ together _ . He couldn't handle two teammates dating."

 

Nick nodded slowly, thinking it over. "I hadn't noticed that about Cole," he said. "I'll keep a close eye on him, if he does anything, I'll take him aside and have a word." 

 

"So you're...okay with all this?" Ryan asked. "Us together?"

 

"This is all new territory for me as a captain," Nick conceded. "So I can't promise I'm not gonna fuck up handling it sometimes. I'm going to do my best to respect you guys, and make sure that you feel comfortable in the room. You shouldn't have to stay single just because there are some homophobic assholes around the league, yeah? I'd be pissed if I couldn't have married Janelle until I was retired. You deserve to be happy. But in return, I need you guys to keep a low profile. It sucks, I know, and it's an unfair double standard. It's to protect you as much as it is to protect the team. We've been through enough this year, after the Vegas incident. Especially you, Bam. You don't necessarily need to be officially outed on top of all that shit."

 

Boone smiled sheepishly. "I'm getting called a fag enough as it is, yeah. Don't need to add fuel to that fire."

 

"So last thing, the room dynamic," Nick looked between them again, "this isn't going to fuck up anything with the rest of the boys, is it? Or like, if you two break up, no drama in the room?"

 

Boone scoffed, "I've been in love with this asshole for two years." Ryan's eyes went wide but he managed to bite back the  _ wait what?! _ that he wanted to blurt. "If getting wasted and pathetic over him for that long didn't fuck up the room, I think we can handle  _ dating _ ."

 

"I'll kick both of your asses if you mess up the chemistry in there, alright?" Nick drained the last of his coffee. "And if I  _ ever _ have to hear you two going at it, I'm rooming both of you with rookies next season. No one wants to think about  _ either _ of you like that." He shuddered and wrinkled his nose for emphasis.

 

"No fucking up the room, and no being loud on the road, got it," Ryan nodded, laughing nervously.

 

"Good talk, boys," Nick said as he stood. "I'll see you at the rink."

 

Ryan wanted to go over this with Boone, ask him what this meant, where they stood,  _ what the fuck you were in love with me this whole time? _ They had a video session to get to, though, and a practice, and if they were late Torts would have them riding the bench or worse for the first game of the playoffs. It was a conversation that would have to wait.

 

They drove to the rink in companionable silence, and at one of the red lights, Boone reached over and threaded his fingers through Ryan's. He didn't even look over, just held his hand as if this wasn't new and different and thrilling, like it wasn't making Ryan's heart threaten to pound out of his chest. He might eventually get used to this, the easy affection Boone displayed, but the novelty hadn't worn off yet.

 

Half of the team was already there, and most of didn't even bother to look up when the two of them arrived; Boone and Ryan showing up to the rink together wasn't a big surprise for anyone, they'd done it for years when they lived together.

 

Seth was there, sitting near Scotty and Andy, and the three of them most certainly noticed. Fortunately they knew enough to keep quiet about it, but Scott wiggled his eyebrows comically and Josh sent a text with a string of peach and eggplant emojis to Ryan. Jonesy ruffled his hair as he walked past. 

 

Wenny skated into Ryan against the boards once they were on the ice, "'Bout damn time."

 

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said, feeling his face go hot. "You're all smarter than us. Now shut up, you're gonna out us to everyone."

 

"Nah, no one's paying attention." He gave a quick glance around to confirm it. "Besides, I owe you some thanks. Wild Bill thought you'd figure it out last summer, I said you're both dumbasses, so I won  _ that _ bet. Hundred bucks because you two are idiots." He winked and elbowed Ryan, then skated off toward the rest of the forwards.

 

Scotty came over next and jostled Ryan's helmet, "You dork, you shoulda said something to him  _ months _ ago. When Jonesy told me what was up--"

 

"Why was Jonesy telling anyone anything?" Ryan made a face, shaking his head.

 

"Oh my god, Bam was  _ pathetic _ the one night, after Vegas. Super wasted and whining about living alone and how everything was so much better before," he paused and his grin turned to a smirk. "Okay, I mean, Bam was pathetic all the fucking time when you guys got your own places, but he was way worse than usual. I didn't realize until Jonesy said something that it was because he was hung up on you." 

 

"Holy shit, how long did you guys all  _ know _ ?" 

 

"It's been months, and then you were so damn mopey after they fucked up and got married." Scotty laughed at the grumpy huff Ryan let out and shoved him into the boards. "Shit, man, you're the worst actor in the world."

 

Seth skated over to them, breathing hard. "What's up, boys?"

 

"Scotty's giving me shit for taking so long to figure out…" he trailed off and motioned toward Boone with his chin. 

 

Seth laughed boisterously and rolled his eyes at Scott. "How the hell are you gonna give him shit for anything? You didn't even know it was a thing until like two weeks ago!"

 

"What? I totally knew!"

 

"Bullshit! You had no idea until they cuddled on the plane back from California," Seth rolled his eyes. "It was just me and the Swedes that had any clue what the fuck was going on."

 

"And Fliggy," Ryan offered. "Apparently he figured it out like a year ago."

 

"Holy shit, even  _ Fliggy _ knew?" Seth shook his head and chuckled. "You guys are fucking morons."

 

"Oh fuck off, both of you." Ryan groaned and hacked at Seth's shins and then Scotty's with his stick, before he skated off to take his turn for the drill they were working on. He didn't want to know how many  _ other _ people had figured their relationship out before he did.

 

On the drive home, he mentioned it to Boone. "So we're both complete fucking idiots."

 

Boone snorted and glanced at him, lips pursed. "Hey, hey, I'm your boyfriend now, you're supposed to be nice to me. Why are we idiots?"

 

_ Boyfriend _ . Something warm curled in Ryan's stomach. "First of all, no way, I can totally chirp you even if you're my boyfriend. Hell, it might be more fun to chirp you now. And secondly, did you know Wenny and Bill were  _ betting _ on when we'd figure it out? They knew it last year! And so did Jonesy. And Fliggy."

 

"I mean, we were just trying to be sure about it," Boone said. "We didn't want to ruin anything."

 

"I was painfully obvious, Bam. Why else would I get so pissed off when you brought people home? And hell, I didn't even realize you were getting drunk and being all grumpy about me for the last few months."

 

Boone nodded slowly. "Well yeah, I mean, that's why I was so dumb all year; I was hung up on you and thought you were straight."

 

Ryan couldn't stop the smile taking over his face. "God, we're both stupid. I wanted my own place because I had this huge stupid crush on you and couldn't handle seeing you with other people," Ryan shook his head, thinking back over the last few months. "That's why I hated going out with you guys, because you always picked up."

 

"See, if you'd have just had the balls to make a move, we could've figured this out months ago!" Boone was beaming at him. "I never woulda gotten wasted and married  _ Jonesy _ ," he wrinkled his nose at that, shaking his head.

 

"Me? You didn't make a move either!" 

 

"Well no, but you're the smarter one! You should've known!" He paused a moment, then added, "Do you think everyone else knows too?"

 

"Well Fliggy did, and Jonesy and Wenny, and then Scotty and Andy figured it out when we were coming back from California…" Ryan trailed off, trying to think of anyone else who might have been in on it.

 

"So we were the only ones in the dark?"

 

"Looks like it."

 

"God, we really  _ are _ idiots."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end! I want to thank everyone who stuck around for this whole thing, who commented or added kudos. You're all wonderful <3

The playoffs started just days later. Ryan knew he should be focusing on that; they wanted to make it to the second round for the first time and besides, Ryan had a job he was still fighting to keep. Despite that, there was a whole list of questions Ryan wanted to ask Boone about their relationship. How they would handle the summer apart? Would they just get a place together next year? What if Ryan got traded? 

 

How had Boone been in love with him for two years without him noticing?

 

There wasn't time for a discussion like that, not yet. There were practices and games and media scrums to handle. Boone was staying at Ryan's place every night, and on the road they let one of their rooms stay empty, but they didn't have sex again--it was the playoffs, and they both decided it was a good idea to stick to handies and blow jobs--though Ryan could get used to waking up with a naked Boone tangled around him.

 

They started sitting on the plane together for every flight now, spending most of the time leaning close and talking quietly, sharing inside jokes. Boone was openly flirtatious with him, and Ryan was torn; part of him was basking in the easy affection, in the way Boone found ways to touch him unexpectedly--a hand on his arm while he talked, hooking his ankle around Ryan's when they sat at dinner--but part of him was hyper aware every time a teammate looked their way. Most often it was just Andy or Jonesy smirking at them knowingly, but other times it would be Cole glancing at them with poorly masked disgust. Ryan simultaneously loved being the object of Boone's attention and hated that everyone else seemed to notice it. 

 

He didn't tell Boone to stop, though.

 

The first two games against Washington weren't perfect, but they were up 2-0 heading home to Columbus and that was all that mattered. They might have been a little bit cocky, a little too sure of themselves. Losing the next two in front of their own crowd hurt. But they'd won in Washington before, they could win in Washington again.

 

The momentum of game five went back and forth, with the Jackets going up first but the Capitals came back and then took a lead, then they traded goals, unable to finish the game in regulation. That had been a trend in the series; it was the fourth time in five games that they'd needed extra time to determine a winner. A shoving match punctuated the end of the third, with Savard and TJ Oshie trading face washes and jawing at each other. The referees split them up and they went their own ways, David still ranting on his way to the locker room.

 

"He's a fuckin' piece of shit," he was muttering in his stall, next to Cole. "Fuckin' swipes at me with his stick and then he's a fuckin' pussy when I try to push back. Let's fucking do this, boys, get the fucking win and shove it up his ass."

 

"Fuck that guy," Dubi agreed, raising his Gatorade in agreement.

 

"We'll fucking crush him, boys," Cole clapped his hands together, pumping up the room. "Let's make him cry like the fuckin' homo he is." 

 

Ryan really wished Josh had more self-control than to look straight at him and then at Boone as soon as Ian spoke. Ryan shook his head subtly and gave an eye roll, but went back to replacing the tape around his shins. 

 

"Colesy, hey," Nick's Captain Voice was on, and he snapped to get Ian's attention. "Not fuckin' cool, bud. We get he's an asshole, that's all you gotta say." He shot a quick look around the room to see if anyone would argue, but no one did. "Let's beat these fuckers on the scoresheet, that's all that matters. Get up quick, shoot everything you've got. We win this and we can wrap it up at home."

 

But they didn't win that night. They went home down 3-2, and to add insult to injury, they lost game six in front of their own fans. Ryan had a fleeting moment on his way off the ice, wondering if this was the last time he'd play in Columbus as a Blue Jacket, if it would be his last time playing on the same team as Boone. It wasn't worth it for him to stress about, though. He didn't have much say in the matter. 

 

Boone drove them home in silence, his jaw clenched tight with frustration--over the game, the series, the missed opportunities. There was no question now, he didn't even think twice before pushing the button for Ryan's floor once they stepped onto the elevator. There was a chair in Ryan's bedroom that was stacked high with Boone's clothes and his toothbrush was on Ryan's sink. Boone had stocked the fridge with the coffee creamer and yogurt that he liked; Boone made them both a protein shake in the morning while Ryan was getting ready. It was easy and comfortable to fall back into old habits, especially after having lived together for so long. All that had changed was that now they were sleeping together too.

 

After behaving themselves for two weeks, getting by with morning handjobs and evening blowjobs, Ryan was aching for more. But they had just lost a series and been eliminated, so he wasn't sure if Boone would be up for it. Three steps past the door, though, he got his answer. Boone laced one hand into Ryan's hair and shoved him against the kitchen island; it dug into Ryan's back, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not with Boone's mouth on his, Boone's hands all over his chest, his sides, Boone's fingers making quick work of loosening Ryan's tie and sliding it off.

 

It should have been slower. It should have been more romantic. 

 

But instead it was Ryan tumbling onto the bed on his back and Boone landing on top of him, scrambling out of his suit and pulling at Ryan's belt. While Boone struggled to undress them while never breaking the kiss, Ryan was feeling around blindly in the drawer of his bedside table, triumphantly pulling out a condom when he felt the foil packet between his fingers.

 

Boone finally got Ryan down to his boxers--brand new ones, even--and while he gave a momentary appreciative glance, he made quick work of yanking those off as well, before shifting so he could kick his own trunks down and and flick them across the room toward the hamper. He straddled Ryan's hips and leaned down to kiss him again, a little less frenzied now, but still desperate. He pulled up only long enough to dig in the drawer to find the lube and nodded at the condom sitting on the bed next to Ryan. "The fuck are you waiting for," he said, his voice deep and sandpapery, "put it on."

 

"Wait, we've gotta get you prepped," Ryan tore the wrapper anyway, rolling the latex onto his cock. 

 

Boone poured too much lube in his hand and it dribbled on Ryan's stomach, pooled in his navel. "Doesn't matter if I'm sore tomorrow anyway," he shrugged, stroking the lube over Ryan's dick, whistling low through his teeth.

 

"Still, gonna hurt you if we don't get you ready," Ryan swiped his fingers through the slick liquid on his belly, warming it before reaching around to rub the pad of his thumb over Boone's entrance. 

 

Boone let out a soft moan and pushed back against the touch, but he smirked, looking down at Ryan through his lashes. "You're not gonna break me, and we won't have games for months now. Just fuck me." Ryan hesitated, his fingers still rubbing slow, slick circles over Boone's pucker, pressing one inside slowly, then another. He'd barely even started to move them inside Boone before he huffed out a frustrated laugh. He leaned down to kiss Ryan firmly. "I appreciate the gentle boyfriend stuff, but we've been dating for two weeks and we've fucked once. I'm dyin' for it here, okay?"

 

Ryan swallowed hard and nodded once before pulling his hand away from Boone and curling it around the base of his own cock instead. "If you're sure--"

 

He barely had the words out before Boone was cutting him off. "I am." He was still straddling Ryan and he shifted up onto his knees and curled his fingers around Ryan's dick, guiding it until Ryan was pushing up into him. It was slow going, Ryan still hesitant with the lack of prep, but Boone winced for only the briefest moment as Ryan eased past the head. Boone rocked his hips down, down, lower, his breath catching every so often; Ryan mostly just tried to stay still, tried to fight the need to surge up deep into Boone, to bury himself up to the hilt. Games or no games, he never wanted to hurt Boone.

 

"Yeah," Boone muttered, Ryan's cock finally seated fully inside him. His head was tipped back and his skin was already damp with sweat; he didn't move for a long moment, just sat there atop Ryan, sucking in huge gulps of air and digging his nails into Ryan's chest.

 

Ryan was petting slow, soothing strokes over his hips. "You doing okay?"

 

Boone made a noise that might have been a laugh, but it was choked and shuddery. "Yeah, 'm okay, just need a second."

 

Ryan nodded and just let his hands wander, down over Boone's thighs, up along his ass, finally letting his fingers trace along the crack between, finding the spot where Boone was spread wide around him. Boone hissed above him, but it was followed by a low moan, and he pushed back against the touch. 

 

"Okay, yeah," Boone panted, his hands braced on Ryan's shoulders. "We can move now."

 

Ryan kneaded Boone's ass in his palms and thrust up deep, guiding the rhythm; he kept it slow at first, careful, and for the moment, Boone might have been on top, but he left Ryan to dictate the pace. He was breathing hard and just barely rocking his hips to match Ryan, his mouth dropped open and his eyelids heavy. He moaned soft little encouragements, sometimes verbal, sometimes just grunts, Ryan's name once. 

 

As he got more into it, Boone started to take over, lifting himself up and sinking deep again, faster and faster, and Ryan surged up to match him. He wrapped a hand tight around Boone's cock and tried to copy the rhythm, but it was off-time and fumbled. Boone didn't seem to care, though, and he was moaning louder now, his hips bucking forward and back. Their pace was unsteady and far from synchronized, but it didn't matter. Boone came first, jamming himself down to the hilt, his cock throbbing steadily as Ryan stroked him through the orgasm, chewing the inside of his lip hard to hold back himself.

 

"Come on, Ry," Boone was watching him now, his eyes unfocused, his pupils wide. "You now." It didn't take much to pull him over the edge too, just the tight heat of Boone around his dick, and then Boone shifted and clenched and Ryan was coming hard, thrusting up erratically, uncontrolled, and if he hadn't been so into it he would've tried to stifle the volume of his moaning. 

 

Boone slumped against him while they caught their breath, panting into his shoulder, mouthing gentle kisses over the curve of Ryan's neck. Finally he patted Boone's hip and nudged him to move so he could clean himself up. When he came back to bed, Boone was sprawled on his back, his cock softening against his hip, and he glanced at Ryan with a sated grin. "Fuck, I've been thinking about that for two damn weeks."

 

Ryan smiled and settled onto the bed next to him, laying half on top, one of his legs between Boone's, and pressed a kiss to his mouth, slow and probing, letting his tongue glide over Boone's top lip, then sucking on the lower one, until Boone was shuddering beneath him, letting out a quiet moan. "'Ey, 'ey. Cool it, buddy, gotta let me rest before you go mauling me again," Boone said, splaying his hand wide against Ryan's chest, putting only the tiniest bit of distance between them.

 

Ryan looked down, sheepish, and let out a soft chuckle. "Sorry, it's been a rough couple of weeks, resisting you."

 

Boone scratched over Ryan's jaw, through the overgrowth of beard that Ryan knew he'd have to shave eventually now that the playoffs were over. "But see, you had to hold off for two weeks, but now," he wiggled his eyebrows, a positively wicked grin curling his lips, "now we have all summer to do this."

 

They hadn't discussed summer yet, how they'd handle the months apart. Ryan hadn't ever really had a long-distance relationship, he didn't know how to handle one. "All summer, yeah? I've got you to myself that long?"

 

Boone hesitated, his smile dropping to a soft grin. "I mean, if you wanted to. We'll see about Worlds, if Canada wants us. I'm gonna see my mom and brothers too, yeah, but I want to spend the summer with you."

 

"Definitely, yes, of course," Ryan affirmed, and Boone's brow smoothed out. "We just hadn't talked about it, what we were doing for the summer. So I wasn't...sure."

 

"So you can come home to Dorchester with me for a while, and then I'll go home with you for a while. And maybe we can go to the beach or something before we start training again." Boone was tracing his fingertips in slow, idle strokes over Ryan's chest, distracting Ryan from whatever plans he was making. Ryan was game for whatever he came up with anyway.

 

"Wait a minute," Ryan blurted, finally remembering a question he'd wanted to ask for weeks. "When we met with Nick. You said you were in love with me two years ago. Two years?"

 

Boone was startled by the question, and he laughed nervously about it, chewing on his lower lip and tugging his earlobe. "We got home from Marcela's one night, I struck out with some blonde so we just came home alone, and you were still a little drunk, and you were sitting on the couch playing that Kate Mckinnon song--"

 

"McCannon," Ryan corrected.

 

"--and you were trying to sing it, and man, your voice is terrible. But you were really into it, really soulful, and it was fuckin' adorable. I realized I was way happier going home with you than some random girl, and I figured that it probably meant something."

 

Ryan smiled, he didn't remember that night at all, but it sounded like him. When he got drunk enough, singing seemed like a great idea. He kissed the sheepish smile off of Boone's mouth and flicked his tongue over his lower lip. "I realized it a little before that," he started, then when Boone looked confused he amended it. "When I realized I was in love with you. It was some morning when we were staying over on Goodale. You were giving me shit about leaving the creamer on the counter, how we were gonna get food poisoning because I don't put anything away."

 

"You don't put anything away," Boone nodded, but he was smiling broadly and his eyes were bright.

 

"So it just hits me, like a fucking Byfuglien hit. You're standing there bitching at me and I'm like, 'oh fuck, I love this asshole,' because I'm a glutton for punishment, apparently." Ryan grinned at the memory.

 

"We wasted so damn much time," Boone shook his head. "My mom fucking told me I should just ask you out already. She's never gonna let me live it down that she was right."

 

"Your mom knew?!"

 

Boone grimaced and shook his head, "Score one for Terri, she's gonna be thrilled when I tell her we're together." He paused for a moment. "Do your parents know anything?"

 

Ryan ducked his head, his cheeks flushed deep pink. "I never came out to them. There wasn't much reason to, I wasn't dating anyone. So uh, I'm going to have to do that soon."

 

"Brent loves me," Boone said confidently, nodding once. "He's gonna think it's awesome. He's not going to be a dick like my dad. We'll go up there after we see my mom and we'll take your parents to dinner and tell them."

 

Ryan found himself folded tightly into Boone's arms. "You've just got this all figured out, eh? Gonna take my parents to dinner and tell them your intentions for me?" 

 

Boone waggled his eyebrows comically and turned to his back, pulling Ryan along and on top of him. "Well, I'm not gonna tell them  _ all _ of my intentions."

____

 

Break-up day, as locker room clean out day was known, was always miserable. Saying goodbye to friends and teammates for the season, unsure of what the roster would look like the next time they walked into the rink. The day consisted of exit interviews and final fitness testing, taping up bundles of unused sticks and loading gear into huge duffels. 

 

Ryan had gotten the offer to join Team Canada for World Championships and he jumped at the chance to play a little more hockey. He'd missed enough games this year, if he could add a few--especially wearing the maple leaf--he was most certainly going to do so. Pierre-Luc got an invitation as well, so he had a traveling partner and a roommate, which made those tournaments more fun.

 

Boone was going home to stay with his mom and Ryan would meet him there once the tournament was over, and then they would make a trip out west to stay with Ryan's family. He was worried for the conversation to come, but Boone had him convinced that it would all be okay.

 

Ryan had gotten hugs and handshakes from his teammates on the way out, some gentle ribbing about the scraggly facial hair he still hadn't shaved, and a reassuring clap on the shoulder from Nick as he left the arena. Boone would be there longer, he had media to talk with. They had plans for dinner out with the boys later that night, one last hurrah before Ryan and PL flew off to meet with the rest of the Canadian team.

 

As he was loading his gear into the back of his truck, Jonesy came out to meet him. "Murr, buddy, I forgot to give you something!" He extended an envelope. Ryan opened it and pulled out a letter with  _ Little Vegas Wedding Chapel _ printed across the top. He groaned and rolled his eyes, flipping Seth off.

 

"Oh, you're just the worst."

 

"Hey, hey, don't shoot the messenger. The place offers a second wedding at half off if the first one doesn't work out, so if you and Bam wanna make a trip to Vegas this summer…" he smirked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

 

"We're just dating, no one said we're getting married," Ryan knew he was blushing and he really hoped Seth wouldn't call him on it. 

 

"I get it!" Jonesy said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I just thought, hey, why let an opportunity like that go to waste?"

 

"Have a good summer, Jonesy," Ryan said, pulling his door open. "Get your ass healthy, we're gonna need you next year."

 

Seth laughed and punched him in the shoulder. "Good luck with Canada, ya dick. Hopefully Team USA kicks your asses."

 

Ryan drove toward home so he could pack for Europe, still shaking his head at Jonesy being such a meddling bastard. He was ridiculous, he'd already done his part to help get him and Boone together, he didn't have to nudge them toward getting married, discounted or not.

 

However, Ryan  _ had _ tucked the envelope into his back pocket. Just in case he ever needed it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set to begin during the Blue Jackets trip to Las Vegas in January and it follows along pretty closely with the season as it goes along. There may be some slight creative license taken here and there.


End file.
